Harry Potter and the Unexpected Events
by Mr.Anonymous.Man
Summary: Harry Potter always had a lot of luck, but this is really just too far. Super!Harry, Kickass!Dumbledore, and Super!Voldemort. Set during 4th year. AU. Complete.
1. A Matter of Honor

**I clearly do not own Harry Potter. If I did, my writing would be famous and I would be rich beyond belief. But it's not, and neither am I.**

**AN: This is my first story that I'm publishing for more than 30 seconds. If it's complete crap, tell me. If it's the best thing you've ever read, tell me. If you hated it, and feel like ranting about how I'm obviously an inexperienced writer that has no business writing, don't tell me. I already know that. Also, I'm naming all the chapters after a Next Generation episode.  
**

**Enjoy, hopefully.**

**Chapter One: A Matter of Honor**

Soft tufts of snow fell around a pair of men, melting in a perfect circle around the smaller of the two. Intense heat radiated off of them, warning of the immense power being used. Dark and ominous trees hung their branches down like claws extended towards the ground, while the foliage towered above them, casting long shadows on their flowing robes.

"That's it Harry! Slash and jab!" Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts shouted encouragingly to fourteen-year-old Harry James Potter, Triwizard Tournament competitor extraordinaire.

"_Incido!_" Harry incanted tiredly, launching yet another exhaustingly overpowered Advanced Cutting curse at the conjured target. Beads of sweat streamed down his tired face as a lance of silver energy left his fingertips, arcing through the air to cleave the target unevenly into two distinct pieces.

"Bravo," Dumbledore clapped enthusiastically. "That one was particularly powerful, especially since it was wandless."

Harry smiled slightly, and softly spoke. "Professor, could I possibly finish this tomorrow? I'm exhausted."

The pair was not out and about next to an ominous forest on a cold, snowy, February day for no reason. In fact, the reason they were out on that miserable day was because Albus Dumbledore had offered to train Harry in the ways of magic. Now, you might say that this is a rather unexpected offer, and you would be partially correct.

**1 Week Prior**

_Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Triwizard Judge, sat in the judges box for the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. _Of course_, Dumbledore contemplated,_It really should be called the Quadwizard Quizzes or something of the sort._ He was watching the unexpected fourth champion swim through the water to retrieve his hostage, and so far he was doing admirably._

_Dumbledore watched as Harry was attacked by Grindylows and quietly contemplated his decision not to train young Harry. He tried to remember his reasoning for that particular decision, and with a start remembered. Yes, he must not be told to preserve his childhood. He continued, confident in his choice._

_Yet a small voice in the back of his head seemed to be screaming for his attention. He returned to his meditative state and immediately was bombarded with arguments against his decision. _It's not your choice! _They screamed. _He doesn't even have a childhood! _Another yelled. _He needs to know! _Yet another berated him. And on and on he was attacked by his own mind, until finally he relented. __**Yes! I will train the boy. If you will accept my decision to wait in telling him the Prophecy.**__ His conscience, knowing that was the best offer it was going to get, relented._

_Dumbledore sighed, not happy about taking even a small bit of the happiness that Harry exhibited away from him. He knew that if he was to train him properly, he would have to be brutal. He did not like this, not one bit._

_Dumbledore found himself thinking about what he could teach the boy. Wandless magic was a given, and animagus training surely. Perhaps even runes, since it would help with his spellcasting. Perhaps he should teach him a few of his own tricks as well._

_Yes, Dumbledore was getting more enthusiastic about this every passing second. Now, he only had to get the boy to agree._

To Dumbledore's great surprise, Harry accepted instantly, and ever since the completion of the Second Task he had been trained in all sorts of wondrous magics. Wandless magics, silent magics, animagus training, runes, and obscure battle spells were all on his course list.

Practicing twelve hours a day for almost a week left Harry feeling terrible. His magical reserves were almost depleted, and all he wanted to do was go and have a nice day-long nap. Alas, the Headmaster would not relent, insisting Harry deplete his core completely in the fastest way possible every day before bed. Harry was not happy about shooting overpowered cutting curses out of his fingertips every evening before bed. He had, however, noticed that he could do more and more every day, so he supposed it was working.

"No Harry, your core isn't depleted yet." Dumbledore chided gently.

Harry groaned. "Professor, why must I deplete my core every day?"

"Harry, your magic needs to be stretched if it is going to grow. It's like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it will be." Dumbledore explained calmly.

"But why do I need to do it the hard way? Didn't you say there was a spell to deplete your core?" Harry inquired.

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes Harry, there is. But then the magical conduits in your body would not be cleared out." At Harry's blank look, he explained further. "All throughout your body there are magical conduits. They get charged up with ambient magic, making it extraordinarily difficult to cast even the simplest of spells. It's like a water pipe. It gets dusty on the inside and the water that comes out of the end is all dirty. But if you shoot water through it when you don't need it, the dust will flow along with the water, cleaning it out and making all the water after it untainted."

Harry looked even more confused at this, so the Headmaster just chuckled. "This is advanced magical theory, Harry. I do not expect you to fully understand. However, please trust that this is indeed necessary."

Harry bowed his head. "Yes sir."

"Continue, Harry."

"_Incido!_"

:{D

Two weeks later, Harry was sitting in front of a steaming cauldron, stirring concentratedly as Severus Snape, resident Potions Master looked over his shoulder. Disapproval and annoyance were plainly visible on his face.

"Potter, I don't know why the Headmaster wants you to brew the Animagus Unlocking potion, but if you keep ignoring those Warthog Entrails that you're preparing the potion will become an incurable poison. Not that I care." Snape sneered scornfully. Harry quickly returned his attention to the main ingredient of his potion. Sure enough, the entrails had already begun to curl up.

"Crap." Harry swore.

"Five points from Gryffindor."

Harry flipped the writhing intestines over on the stove, much like one would flip a pancake. If that pancake was covered in manure, that is.

He carefully inspected the charred mass, noting the charred edges. He quickly scraped off the charred bits, checking over his shoulder to see that Snape had gone back to reading his cleverly disguised copy of Teen Witch Weekly.

While he was checking on Snape, his hand continued to scrape off the burnt bits with a silver knife. Snape grunted, startling Harry, and his knife slipped, sinking deeply into his thumb.

"OW!" Harry yelled, sucking the blood off the wound.

"Potter, you idiot. Go to the hospital wing. I will finish the potion myself."

:{D

Gabrielle Delacour was not a happy camper. Her headmistress had forbidden any conversation with the champions, fearing that her students would assist another out of spite for Fleur, who was hated for her beauty and charm. Which meant she couldn't thank Harry Potter for saving her life.

Twilight was nearing, the sun almost disappearing over the horizon. The sky was lit up in brilliant oranges and reds. Gabrielle thought to herself the clouds looked much like cotton candy. She looked over the lake, at the slowly falling sun, admiring the simplistic beauty of the scene. Darkness fell as the last sliver of the sun gave way to the dark night sky.

"Get out of the way, little girl." A whiny Beauxbatons student said in a nasal voice, interrupting Gabrielle's pensive moment.

Gabrielle glared at her. "I'm twelve, you idiot. And is that really the best you can come up with?"

The student stepped towards her threateningly. "Stupid veela bitch. You'll learn how to shut your mouth and not talk back to your superiors." She raised her hand as if to strike Gabrielle.

A high squeal of pain, and a terrible crunching sound erupted from the student as Gabrielle flew into motion. Her arms flew up in a blur, and punched her in the nose, shattering it. The older student sunk to her knees, moaning in pain and bleeding profusely from her ruined nose.

"Hey! Look what she did to Maria!" One of the girl's cronies said loudly.

"Yeah, let's teach her a lesson she'll never forget!" Another said.

They descended upon Gabrielle like a pack of vultures fighting over a scrap of meat. Pain flared throughout her body as they kicked and punched every inch of her skin. Nails scratched at her face, drawing blood. Spiked high-heels were jammed into her ribs, winding her. She screamed in agony as every rib was broken simultaneously by one girl jumping on her chest like a trampoline.

:{/

"_Pario!_" Harry incanted loudly, gesturing wildly with his hand. A jet of black energy shot from his hand and coalesced into an onyx statue of a wolf. The glistening, polished stone glinting softly in contrast to the brilliantly sparkling snow around it. It's fur was long and sleek, a perfect copy of a wolf. Its canines glinted, looking so sharp they could cut steel. The most fearsome part of its visage was the glittering, menacing, emerald eyes, looking so alive Harry wondered if he accidentally created an actual, living wolf.

"Good Harry. Very detailed, much better than the last attempts," Dumbledore commented lightly, looking around at the melted, deformed statues all around them. It looked like a graveyard of coal-black gargoyles, with shattered eyes, and haunted looks. The contrast from the previous attempts was obvious. "I believe that you are ready to try the animation spell," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "You will need to embody it with a purpose. While Tom Riddle favors loyalty in his creations, I find that embodying them with the will to defend, and some level of morals is far more effective."

Harry looked revolted at Voldemort's mention, but quickly recovered. "Professor, how would I give it purpose?"

"Simple Harry. It is merely the incantation _Animatis_ while drawing the appropriate runes in mid-air with your index finger. Like so." Dumbledore explained. "_Animatis!_" He said calmly, tracing an intricate pattern in the air. Harry's onyx wolf rose to it's feet and shook it's head, shaking off imperfections in it's coat of fur. It walked up to Dumbledore and began licking his hand excitedly.

_"Dimittere."_ Dumbledore waved his hand, and the statue froze abruptly, its tongue sticking out, still looking at Dumbledore with an expression of adoration.

"That was very cool, sir." Harry commented.

"Why thank you, Harry." The Headmaster smiled. "I believe that it is your turn."

Harry looked at Dumbledore with inquiring eyes. "But sir, how do I know which Runes to use?"

"Harry, my boy, just use the runes that describe what you want the wolf to do. Give it personality." He said with a smile. "And take your time."

Harry thought hard. He wanted his wolf to be powerful, but also wanted it to use its power responsibly. He also wanted it to be more intelligent than a troll, so it would know how to use it's power. He wanted it to help the innocent, and not have its power going to its head.

No, he was over thinking it. This was just training. He would have time to figure out a perfect combination later. He would use what he had, and if it didn't work, well then he'd just try again.

"I'm ready, Professor."

Dumbledore grinned. "Excellent. Continue, please."

Harry raised his hand and thought very hard of his perfect Gryffindor wolf, and begun to draw runes. The movement of his hand ceased to be a conscious action and just moved where his instincts told him to. His rudimentary runes quickly were replaced by a masterful array of complex movements, each steering him closer to his goal. He pushed his magic out of his fingertips, leaving a phantom image of the patterns that he was drawing. Glowing dust whirled around Harry and the wolf, isolating them from Dumbledore, who looked very intrigued at his actions.

Harry's arm hurt from what seemed like hours of rune after rune, depleting his supply of magic almost completely. Finally, when he thought his arm was going to fall off from sheer exhaustion, he felt the magic coming to completion. Gathering his remaining energy, he shoved the last of his power through his palm, yelling '_Animatis!_' loudly.

With the force of a large semi truck a bright ball of light erupted from the palm of Harry's hand, colliding violently with the onyx statue. Massive waves of energy emanated from the statue, The backlash nearly knocking Harry off his feet. He fought to stay conscious, but knew it was futile. Blackness closed in on him, and Harry Potter fell backwards, asleep.

The onyx figure seemed to draw power into its body from the ground, the intensity of the aura surrounding the figure increasing. Blinding light enveloped the Headmaster, making him shield his eyes with his hand and look away. Magical pulses gained in strength, sending shivers down Dumbledore's spine. Time stopped for a fraction of a second, though it seemed like an eternity to the Headmaster. The light and magic snapped back instantly to the figure, melting into its surface. All was still. It opened its eyes. Its emerald-green, familiar eyes. The eyes of Harry Potter.

It breathed in deeply, orienting itself, before it spotted the Headmaster looking at it incredulously. It mentally smirked, but outwardly just blinked. Dumbledore raised his hand, a scanning spell on his lips.

_"Statuere._" Dumbledore intoned. Glowing Runes sprang up from his palm, flashing in sequences unknown to all but the headmaster. "Oh my." He said in horror. "What the blazes was he thinking? He was not ready for _this_!"

The animated statue just nodded.

"You are fully sentient, with a copy of Harry's soul and memories? And a rudimentary magical core as well?" Dumbledore inquired.

_"__**Yes.**_" The wolf spoke in Dumbledore's mind. Dumbledore allowed his shock to show.

Dumbledore turned to Harry, and when he saw he was unconscious he rushed to Harry's side. "We must get him to the hospital wing, immediately."

"_**He is merely magically depleted. Creating a copy of your soul can be quite strenuous.**_" The wolf spoke again.

"Nevertheless-" Dumbledore stopped. "What was that noise?"

The wolf's ears perked up. "_**A young French girl. She's being attacked. You take Harry to the hospital wing. I will deal with this situation.**_" Even in his mind, Dumbledore could feel the wolf's cold fury, and decided to heed the wolf's instructions. Dumbledore ran off, levitating Harry towards the castle.

The wolf turned to the direction of the lake with furious determination glowing in its emerald eyes. It bolted, claws kicking up a storm of dirt and torn up grass. A shadowy blur, it made a very menacing sight in the dark with the ominous backdrop of the Forbidden Forest.


	2. Too Short a Season

**Harry Potter is not owned by me. If he was, he would be way more epic, and make jokes more.**

**AN: Don't like it? Don't read it. But tell me first please. Even if it is completed(Which it isn't), I'll want to know if it's worth it, posting this stuff.**

**Chapter Two: Too Short a Season**

Gabrielle Delacour laid in the mud next to the clear, moonlit water of the Black Lake, bleeding from hundreds of wounds all over her body. Blood pooled around her, staining her silvery locks red. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her small chest heaving. She was dimly aware of the pointed shoe still kicking her beaten body, not satisfied with the destruction already caused. Gabrielle knew the only reason she was still alive was because her magic was replacing her blood, but she realized that even her magic was giving out. She felt faint, and could clearly feel every drop of blood oozing out of her broken and battered body.

_What I must look like._ She thought mournfully. She thought of her soft, sleek silvery hair, and her dark blue eyes, which sparkled like sapphires, and she cried. _They have taken everything away from me. My looks, my friends, and now my life._ She screamed out in agony, sure in the knowledge that she was going to die. She thought of her sister, Fleur, and her Maman, and her Papa. She thought hard, remembering every happy memory she ever had, knowing that this would be her last thought.

"Maman, Papa, Fleur, je t'aime." She choked through her sobs. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with her life's blood and the mud in which she lay, writhing. She remembered her mother's kisses when she went to bed, her father's stories of amusing things, her sister's laugh, and most of all, she remembered the feeling of contentment that her family brought out in her. Her heart leapt, and with a horrifying choking feeling, her feeling of joy was strangled out by the knowledge that she would not see them again. She morbidly wondered what they would say at her funeral. Would they break down, sobbing, or would they fight their emotions to pay their final respects? She imagined her sister looking down at her, her face contorted with the anguish of one who's lost their soul, tears falling onto Gabrielle's shirt. Her mother entered the picture, with the same look of terrible, agonizing sadness. She imagined her father, trying to smile, but failing. She imagined all the people looking at her body, all with the same look of agony on their face. Her grandparents, outliving their youngest granddaughter by nearly a century. Her uncle, usually so full of life, looking defeated. Broken, even.

Then an even more horrifying thought came to her. What if they weren't sad? What if they thought that she was just a stupid veela, not worth their time, or their sympathy. What if the girls were right?

Another choked sob escaped her. The girls still would not stop their tormenting. "Look at you! You ugly bitch, I bet your parents will thank us."

On and on it went, for an eternity. An eternity of torture, and pain. An eternity of contemplating death. An eternity of fear.

Then, the eternity ended.

:O

A jet-black wolf streamed along silently next to the dark, winding forest. Spurred on by the tortured screams of the girl, he increased his speed until he was just a shadowy blur rocketing through the soft, wet grass. His razor-sharp senses detected at least four attackers, all female. His fury increased. How cowardly.

His rage peaked when he smelled the massive quantities of blood, no doubt from the girl. His emerald eyes glinted with cold fury as he heard their casual taunts. Furiously, he ran faster and faster, claws sinking deep into the muddy foliage, until he reached the lake. He saw them, standing in a semicircle, kicking the girl simultaneously. Unbidden, a memory from his creator surfaced. He was on the ground, with schoolchildren kicking at his ribs and shins. He saw a fat boy laughing and egging his gang on. The fat boy was taunting the scrawny raven-haired boy, saying he was a freak, and didn't deserve to live.

He angrily pushed the memory aside and lunged at full speed at one of the girls, shoving her in the mud. She screamed in terror as his teeth descended upon her throat. His jaws stopped quiveringly over her delicate flesh, millimeters away from her neck. The others quickly abandoned Gabrielle's torture in favor of helping their illustrious leader.

"_**Give me one reason why I shouldn't snap your neck right now.**_" The wolf growled telepathically.

"Be-Because- Because I'm just an i-innocent little girl?" She stammered.

The wolf laughed scornfully. "_**Like hell you are. Tell your friends to stop her bleeding, or else your neck is going to look ten times worse than that little girl does right now.**_"

"Guys- Heal Gabrielle." Her voice trembled. One of the girls quickly complied.

"_**Excellent. Now, you aren't ever going to bother anyone ever again, are you**_." The wolf asked menacingly.

"N-n-no s-sir." She said, wetting herself.

"_**Good.**_" The wolf got up and turned around, intending to pick Gabrielle up. But before he could reach her, the girl raised her wand and fired a spell at him.

"_Confrigo!_" She yelled triumphantly.

The jet of purple light shot from her wand and arced towards the wolf at immense speeds. The wolf whirled around and with a flick of his head raised a thick translucent shield, which deflected the curse to the lake's edge. Water blasted 30 meters in the air, soaking everyone but the wolf, who still had his shield up.

The wolf dropped the shield and stalked towards the girl slowly, savoring the moment. "_**Now,**_" It said. "_**You die.**_"

At those words, it flew into action. Opening its mouth wide, it started to howl, building power. The girl's eyes widened in fear. He wasn't just going to kill her, he was going to _obliterate_ her!

The wolf's stance widened to support the sheer power he was wielding, and breathed in very deeply. It looked deep into the girl's eyes, into her very soul. He saw no redemption, or regret. Only fear. Powerful, primal fear. His resolve tightened. With a powerful roar, he released his pent-up breath, only this was not air he was holding in. Beautiful, deadly golden flames erupted from his maw, scorching the girl to cinders instantly. He turned his flames upon the others, and like their leader before them, were utterly and completely destroyed.

He released the flames, and panted from exertion. Remembering Gabrielle, he turned to see her pale, lifeless body. He ran to her, putting his nose on her chest, feeling for a heartbeat. It was faint, like the fluttering of insect wings in the distance, but it was there. He sighed in relief.

Quickly, he flipped her onto his back with his head, and began to run to the castle.

:D

Gabrielle opened her eyes, and immediately closed them tightly. The white light was exceedingly bright, and she began to develop a headache. _That's funny, _She thought. _I didn't know you could get headaches in the afterlife. Guess it's not all it's cracked up to be._ She noted with surprise that her body was aching. _Hang on... Am I even dead?_

"No dear, you aren't." A motherly voice responded, startling her.

_I didn't know I said that out loud. _ She thought.

"Well dear, you did. Now sit up and take your potions." The voice instructed her.

She again groggily opened her eyes, to find an older woman in a healer uniform looming over her with a cup of red liquid. _What in the world?_ She thought.

"Drink up dear, I haven't got all day." The woman said impatiently. Gabrielle cautiously sat up and took the potion from her hand.

"You had some really nasty injuries there dear. What on earth happened to you?" The nurse asked curiously.

"I was attacked." Gabrielle mumbled.

"Really?" The healer looked shocked. "At Hogwarts? That badly?"

"It was some classmates."

The healer clucked her tongue. "I'll have to speak to Albus about this. You could have been killed."

"I would have, if not for that dog thing." Gabrielle said tonelessly.

"_**I am not a thing.**_" Gabrielle heard in her mind.

"What the hell?" She exclaimed.

Gabrielle looked frantically around the room, until she spotted him. The wolf was sitting next to her bed, still as a statue. His eyes sparkled with untold mischief, and his fur was sleek and shiny. He was the very definition of what wolves aspire to be. His snout was long and defined, capped with a glossy black nose. His lips parted in a wolfish smile, revealing his gleaming pearly teeth. Gabrielle couldn't help it. She smiled back.


	3. When the Bough Breaks

**I do not own Harry Potter. (duh)**

**AN: I love the reviews. All of them are great (except that one) :) This one is shorter because apparently people don't like it when there's humor in a story marked 'humor'... Go figure.**

**Chapter Three: When the Bough Breaks**

Harry slowly opened his eyes, head pounding. Sharp, steady pain flared in his temples, searing his brain. He moaned loudly, attracting the attention of the nurse.

"Mister Potter, how are you feeling?" Madam Pomfrey asked, swirling a cup of blood-red liquid.

Harry eyed the cup, and warily replied. "Not well."

Her eyes lit up, and within moments had thrust the cup into his hands. "Drink up, drink up. I'll get some more from the storerooms."

"Yes ma'am," He mumbled, and drained the glass in one gulp. The potion slithered down his throat, burning and bubbling in his stomach. It felt like he had eaten a cauldron-full of boiling acid. He choked, his eyes swimming with tears. Convulsing, he fell back onto the bed, tearing at the sheets.

"Wow, that's an overreaction." A melodic voice floated over to his ears.

"Like hell." He choked out, chest heaving. "Who- you?"

"I'm Gabrielle. You may remember me from when you saved me under a lake filled with mermen." She smirked.

Minutes passed, only the soft gurgling sound of Harry moaning in pain to count the time. At long last, he relaxed; the pain had receded, leaving only a slightly more energized Harry panting and gasping on the bed.

"Alright, Gabrielle. What brings you here?" Harry gasped out, his eyes on the ceiling.

Harry heard a sigh. "Just look at me. You'll figure it out pretty fast."

He slowly turned his head to the source of the voice, and stopped dead. Gabrielle was sitting up in the white hospital bed, propped up by pillows. Her skin was pale, almost whiter than the sheets, and her face was covered in splotchy, purple bruises. Worst of all were the jagged, angry-looking pink scars marring her neck, arms, and face. Her face was gaunt, and had a hollow look to it. He had only seen it on one other; his Godfather, Sirius Black, after he had been thrown in Azkaban Prison for twelve years. What had happened to this poor girl that could make her look so... broken?

The girl smiled a sad smile, and nodded. "Yes, I am a sight, aren't I."

Harry could only nod in horror. "What happened?"

"I was attacked." She said simply. "Bolt over there saved me."

Harry looked to where she nodded, and with shock, he saw it was his animation wolf!

"You named my Animation wolf Bolt?" Harry asked incredulously

The girl looked on with sudden interest. "Yup. I suppose that makes two I owe you."

Harry furrowed his brow. "I don't remember anything after-" He trailed off.

"_**After the spell.**_" The wolf concluded.

"Yes." Harry nodded. "What happened?"

The wolf gazed at him, and after a moment of contemplation, replied. "_**I heard Gabrielle being attacked, so I told Dumbledore to go and bring you to the infirmary while I took care of the attackers**_."

"What do you mean, 'took care of'?" Harry asked cautiously.

"_**I roasted them with Fury-Fire.**_" The wolf replied.

"What? Why?" Harry asked, horrified. "Are they dead?"

"_**I killed them, yes. Look what they did to Gabrielle. I gave them a chance, and they tried to kill me when my back was turned. It was self-defense, and the defense of another.**_" The wolf snarled, agitated. Sparks flew out of his nostrils, singeing the white carpet.

"I believe you. But was it really necessary?" Harry asked desperately.

"Yes." It was not Bolt who responded this time, but Gabrielle. "They were relentless. If they had survived, they would have stopped at nothing to kill the both of us."

The wolf snorted. "_**They cannot kill me. It is beyond their meager abilities.**_"

"What?" Harry asked.

"_**We are quite powerful.**_" Bolt said mysteriously.

"Gee, thanks." Harry said sarcastically.

"_**You're quite welcome.**_" Bolt said with a wolfish grin.

"Back to the point-" Harry's tirade was interrupted as Madam Pomfrey bustled in with a whole tray full of the odd red potion. Harry's face turned deathly pale, and he dove behind his bed covering his mouth with both hands.

"Really now, Mister Potter. They really aren't _that_ bad..." At the incredulous look Harry gave her (still covering his mouth), she relented. "Alright, Mister Potter. I'll let you have your few minutes of peace."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and dropped his hands from his face. He slumped over, leaning on the side of his bed while staring at Gabrielle and Wolf.

The clock ticked. Over and over again, the little noise brought into focus the awkward silence. Listening to the ticks fade into the mists of time they lost themselves, and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore walked into the infirmary to a very peculiar sight. Harry's Animation spell was standing guard by Gabrielle, while Harry was slumped over on the floor, sleeping. With a barely noticeable flick of his hand, he levitated the sleeping boy onto the bed and into a more comfortable position.

"That should do it." Albus commented with satisfaction. "Now, why was I up here again? I really hate Alzheimer's."

"You don't have Alzheimer's, Albus. I keep telling you." Madam Pomfrey commented as she exited her office.

"Then, my dear lady, why can I not seem to remember any of those conversations?" Dumbledore looked mildly smug.

"Because you're an idiot." Dumbledore's smirk immediately dissapeared.

* * *

The British Ministry of Magic was known for centuries as the greatest magical empire of the world. Standing strong, it survived times of famine, rebellion, and wartime. It was the pillar of magical society, the bright flame towering in the distance, illuminating the dark heavens. For hundreds of years, the name Minister of Magic was one to be revered, almost worshiped. And then came Grindelwald.

The powerful Dark Lord arose in the 1940s, wreaking havoc upon countless magicals and muggles alike. It was a time of fear, and the public once again looked to Britain to swoop in and save the day. In it's immense power, the Ministry thought it was all powerful. It mobilized a small army of Aurors to storm the prison, Nurmenguard, where Grindelwald ruled with an iron fist. Twenty-five thousand men and women marched forward to Nurmenguard. The magical society thought they were saved. They celebrated in the streets, drunk on the knowledge that Britain would defeat Grindelwald.

The next morning, when they got up hungover and sluggish, at first they could not comprehend what they were seeing. Then the horror sunk in. Twenty-five rows a thousand long. Stakes, shoved in the ground crudely, crookedly. Capping every single pole was the head of a British Auror.

In time, people would come to loathe the Britons. They no longer tolerated their bigotry, nor their supreme arrogance. The British Nation was reduced to a mere memory, a shadow of what had been. The minister resigned in disgrace. All hope for the world was lost.

Then, Albus Dumbledore, the beacon of hope, destroyed the wards guarding Nurmenguard, entering the castle. For three days he did not return. The world dared not hope. Finally, on the fourth day, Albus Dumbledore strode out of the building, victorious.

Dumbledore was hailed as a conquering hero upon his return to Britain. His status was elevated to that akin to a god. No matter how hard he protested, Britain insisted that he accept their most prestigious award; the Order of Merlin, First Class.

For the next thirty years, time passed without incident. The British were somewhat restored to their all-powerful image, and the Minister, Milicent Bagnold, did nothing to discourage that. For thirty years, peace reigned. Then, another shadow fell.

The rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort was quiet, quick, and deadly. He blasted to almost absolute power faster than any before him. The Ministry, believing in it's omnipotence, foolishly attacked Voldemort with a contingent of twelve highly trained assassins. Angered by the apparent lack of respect and fear, he slaughtered the Auror Corps. A once proud and powerful army that numbered in the thousands was reduced to a small contingent of police officers.

The world once again saw the Ministry for what it truly was. Weak, arrogant, and cruel, it had become a fallen empire, one that escaped the notice of everyone until it was too late. Far too late.

The population fell from a thriving billion to a few hundred thousand in a matter of seven years. When it seemed all hope was lost, Voldemort once again returned to Britain to kill a small child. Harry Potter. When the Aurors found Voldemort's body dead in the Potter's home, they were astounded. Even more astonishing was the fact that young Harry had survived. Again, the Wizarding world celebrated, only this time there were no misconceptions about the might of Britain. They had been demoted on the power scale to lower than Zimbabwe.

Minister of Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge did not know what to do. Britain was once again in the world's eye, and it was most definitely not positive. He was getting Howlers from heads of countries he didn't even know existed about the Potter boy's forced entry into the Triwizard Tournament. He was understandably furious, and tried to have the tournament canceled immediately.

"Minister Fudge, we can't cancel the Tournament unless you want all the combatants to die a very painful death." Ludo Bagman, head of Magical Games and Sports told him. "Barty said so."

So Fudge was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't let the boy compete because he was getting bad publicity, but neither could he stop the tournament without getting bad publicity. With a sigh, he realized that it would probably be worse if he had the champions killed.

"Damnit!" Fudge yelled, throwing his coffee mug at the wall as yet another Howler flew into his office.


	4. Manhunt

**I do not own Harry Potter. Dismissed.**

**AN: I loved all the constructive criticism, and it really helped me come up with this chapter. (Also, go back and read chapter three. I completely rewrote it because of the large amount of negative reviews. I also uploaded the old one as it's own story.) I apologize for the original draft of Chapter Three. I really have no idea what I was thinking. Without further ado, Chapter Four.**

**Chapter Four: Manhunt**

Harry James Potter was having a really, really, really bad day. The source of his distress was a bushy-haired brown missile that had attached itself to his chest like a parasite and would not let go.

"Hermione, I'm perfectly fine. Madam Pomfrey says I'll just be a bit weak for about a week." Harry grumbled.

Hermione looked up at his exhausted, sunken face and angrily replied. "You look like someone pushed you down a well infested with Dementors. Without your wand."

Harry snickered, and a palm flew at the back of his head at high velocity. "Ouch. Hermione, are you trying to give me a concussion?" He rubbed the back of his head playfully.

Hermione stuck her nose in the air snootily. "You were being a prat."

Harry smiled, then asked "Where's Ron?"

"Right here, mate." Ron Weasley, Harry's best friend, said softly. "We were worried about you. Hermione wouldn't stop crying."

Harry smirked. "What about you, Ron. Were you roaming the halls weeping?"

Ron glared at him. "Nope. I was very manly and only cried under my blankets."

Harry laughed, and continued. "So, what happened while I was out?"

Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper. "There's a rumor, about some sort of magical monster."

Harry groaned. The last three magical monsters in the castle had tried to kill him, so he was obviously not happy about this news. "What's the monster, Hermione." He asked resignedly.

"Well," She began, "The story says that last night Gabrielle Delacour was attacked by a group of nasty French girls. They had apparently been attacking all sorts of people, beating them to near death. The only problem was, nobody could prove it. So they got away with vicious attacks and threatened to sue the school if they weren't allowed to attend," Hermione shuddered, "Some of them were even worse than the Death Eaters."

Harry couldn't imagine any human worse than that terrifying hooded gang torturing and killing other than Voldemort, but did not wish to find out if he was wrong. He had enough nightmares enough as it is, with the Dementors' memory and everything. "What does that have to do with the monster?"

"Here's the thing; Apparently, the creature found them beating on poor Gabrielle, and attacked. There wasn't anyone close enough to see what it looked like, but the eyewitness said it looked like a black bear. Anyway, the thing pounced on one of them, and paused for a minute. The girls took out their wands and partially healed Gabrielle. The bear-thing stood up, and went to pick Gabrielle up."

Harry was listening with eyes wide in shock. Was this what Gabrielle meant when she said that Bolt had saved her?

"The instant it's back was turned, the girls started shooting curses at it. Somehow, the curses redirected to the lake, and judging by the splashes, they were pretty powerful curses. The bear-thing turned around and started breathing yellow fire at the girls, killing them instantly. They're still searching around the lake for the bodies, and the Aurors have been called, both French and British."

"Oh my." Harry's jaw was on the floor.

"Yeah." Ron and Hermione agreed instantly.

* * *

Senior Auror James Kirk was searching the perimeter of the Black Lake for the remains of the Beaxbatons girls when his communicator blinked. He quickly opened it and yelled "Report!"

"Sir, we've located the remains." A female voice said over the comm channel.

"On my way." He replied.

Minutes later, he arrived on the scene. "How many magical signatures are there?"

"Five, sir. Only two used spells." A black-suited tactical operative reported.

"Identify them."

"_Agnosco._" The operative incanted. A thin, silver string shot out of his wand and wrapped around two invisible figures. The ribbon separated from one of them, forming the words 'Maria Descartes'.

"One of the deceased, sir."

The second ribbon seemed to waver, undecided. It shook back and forth, coiling and uncoiling rapidly. Finally, it gave up and shot into the air, wrapping it into the name 'Harry Potter'.

Silence fell upon the Aurors immediately. Nobody knew what to say. Finally one operative asked softly, "How do we know it's the Boy-Who-Lived?"

James Kirk was shocked out of silence. "He's the only Harry Potter registered with the British Ministry of Magic. It has to be him."

Kirk sighed, and opened his communicator. "Get me the minister."

* * *

Gabrielle, on the other side of the curtain, was being hugged to death by her sister, Fleur.

"Oh my god!" She cried out in French between her sobs. "I thought you were dead when Madame Maxine said they found your body!"

Gabrielle broke down, overjoyed that her sister was here. "I was so scared, ma soeur. I was thinking about what everyone would say if I died, and-" She choked back a sob.

"I was scared too, bebe. We all were."

"I would have died. I would have died if Bolt hadn't come."

Fleur looked at her in confusion. "What? Who's Bolt?"

"Harry's dog."

Fleur looked confused. "Fellow Triwizard competitor Harry?"

"Yes." Gabrielle said innocently.

Fleur looked suspiciously at Gabrielle for a moment. "You're alive. That's all that matters." Fleur took a deep breath. "The Aurors will catch who's responsible."

Gabrielle looked down. "No they won't."

"Of course they will. They're very good at their jobs." Fleur chided.

Gabrielle looked distinctly uncomfortable. "They won't catch them, because they're dead."

"What?" Fleur gasped.

"Bolt killed them when they tried to kill us."

Fleur stared at Gabrielle, mouth hanging open, and promptly fainted.

* * *

Minister Cornelius Oswald Fudge was also having an exceptionally bad day. On top of receiving a total of thirty-seven more Howlers and breaking his favorite coffee mug irreparably, he had just received a message from his top Auror, Captain James Kirk, and the contents were not welcome news at all.

"Evidence has been found linking Harry James Potter to the quadruple-homicide." Kirk said regretfully.

The minister leaned back. "And you're sure it's conclusive?"

Kirk sighed and shook his head. "There was no mistake, Minister. There is no doubt it's him." He paused, shivering. "I have a really bad feeling about this. Something is definitely not right."

The Minister shook his head as well. "Murder never is, Jim."

James looked away, staring at something off the screen. "I just can't imagine the kid doing something so brutal."

"Why? Was it especially bad for some reason?" The minister asked, worried.

Kirk whistled. "Burned to death, Cornelius. There isn't a worse way to go, except the cruciatus curse."

Fudge's resolve tightened. With a hard look on his face, he spoke. "As Minister of Magic, I hereby issue the arrest warrant of Harry James Potter." With a heavy heart, he finished. "Deadly force is authorized."

Auror Kirk's face wavered, before setting into a hard, professional mask. "Yes Sir." Kirk's face melted away to reveal the blinking Ministry Seal.

Fudge leaned over his desk, head in his hands. "What have I done?" He muttered to himself.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was also having a very, very, very bad day. In fact, we can assume that everyone in the world was having an exceptionally shitty day, to save us time. Dumbledore was monitoring Senior Auror Kirk's communications with the Minister, and did not like the result any better than Cornelius Fudge himself. Dumbledore, who of course knew Harry was innocent because he was sitting in the Hospital Wing at the time of the murder, was currently running to the infirmary. He knew that he had almost no time left before the Aurors would appear to execute Harry.

Panting and wheezing, he rushed into the open doors of the Hospital Wing, yelling for Harry.

"Yes, Headmaster?" Harry asked, bemused, as he untangled himself from Hermione's embrace.

"Quick, my boy. The British Aurors are almost here!" Dumbledore spewed out, so fast Harry had to pause to comprehend what Dumbledore was saying.

"Why is that a bad thing, sir?" He asked, confused.

"They are going to arrest you for murder." Dumbledore calmed down a bit. "My boy, we have to get you out of the country. But where?"

A voice floated through the curtain. "I could take him to France."

Dumbledore appeared to consider the idea, and finally nodded his approval. "Miss Granger, I believe you know how to create a Portkey."

"Wha- No, of course not..." She stuttered.

"Miss Granger, do not kid yourself. I saw you perform the spell multiple times." Dumbledore sounded slightly angry.

"Yes, but that was just-" She was cut off.

"It was good enough, and this is an emergency. I will be otherwise occupied." Dumbledore grinned.

Hermione looked panicky, and did not move a muscle as Dumbledore turned and with a sweep of his hand, closed, locked, and barricaded the door.

"That should hold them for a while. I will be needed to reinforce the wards on the door." Dumbledore said urgently. "Miss Granger, hop to it!"

Hermione jumped a foot in the air, and immediately began reciting rune names, trying to remember the sequence. Harry grabbed a comb of off the dresser, and handed it to her. She took it, and gratefully set it on the bed.

After a few minutes hard concentration, she asked Gabrielle where she lived. "Rue d'la Victoire, Paris."

Hermione repeated it a few times to get it stuck in her head, and said "Ready."

At Harry's nod, she whipped her wand in fanciful patterns, a look of intense concentration etched on her brow. With a flourish, she directed her wand at the small blue comb and incanted. "_Portus._" The comb flashed blue and Hermione plopped down on the adjacent bed, exhausted.

Shouts and spellfire ricocheted around the hall, and the door began to splinter upon the assault. Smoke poured in under the cracks, and plaster fell off the walls in large chunks. "GO!" Dumbledore yelled. Gabrielle ran and grabbed Harry's hand the instant before he touched the Portkey. His last sight before disappearing was of the door being blasted in and a small hoard of Aurors pointing their wands at Dumbledore, his mentor, friend, and hero.

"Miss Granger, fifty points for Gryffindor for excellent spellwork." Was all Dumbledore said before the crimson jet of the stunning curse erupted from James T Kirk's wand and struck him in the chest. Keeling over sideways, his face was frozen in a constant, mocking smile.


	5. We'll Always Have Paris

**I do not own Harry Potter. Period. End of discussion.**

**AN: One reviewer complained about in the last chapter Dumbledore seemed a bit weak, not even able to hold off the Aurors. I have to say, they had the advantage of numbers, and Dumbledore was working on short notice. When they stunned him, yes he could have blocked it, but he wanted to be captured and interrogated so he could prove Harry's innocence.**

**Also, Review. Lord Voldemort commands you.**

**Chapter Five: We'll Always Have Paris**

Harry felt horribly dizzy, as always with magical forms of instantaneous travel, so he did not immediately notice the bright red double-decker bus bearing down on him. His companion did, however, and was frantically trying to get his attention. She screamed unintelligibly, confusing Harry even more. She gestured wildly to the side, frantically pushing him. Harry looked, but didn't see any thing alarming. Gabrielle's eyes went wide, and her body tensed. He looked dead ahead just in time to see the shining metal bus inches from his face. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to jump, and he did so. He leaped backwards, only delaying the inevitable bone-crushing embrace of the giant metal machine.

Time slowed down, the ticking of the clock becoming slower and slower. Harry saw with razor-sharp accuracy every dent, scratch, and flaw in the bus. He saw bright, clear colors, as if somehow he had been wearing bad glasses his entire life and was only now experiencing the fullness of the world. Most of all he saw Gabrielle's face inches from his own, holding his chest in absolute terror. Bright flashes erupted behind his eyes, blinding him and taking away his last moment.

Time resumed. There was a squealing of brakes, and the sound of bending metal and shattered glass screamed through his ears to his brain. He faintly saw shrapnel flying around him, sparks flying from the metal scraping against the pavement. He felt his energy ebb away, and he knew he was dying. With a screeching, grinding sound the world stilled.

He felt no pain, only fatigue. His vision was a field of snow, forever stretching on to endless paths. His ears rang, speaking volumes in their near-silence. He knew he was dead. This was the afterlife, and he was in it. The only question left was, what was left to do?

Was he supposed to make peace with those he had wronged? Or was this hell? Could his eternal damnation be to sit in the unrelenting whiteness of snow for all eternity? Surely Fate wasn't that cruel. He had given everything to defeat Voldemort. His parents died to save him from Voldemort. His Godfather was imprisoned for twelve years and currently on the run. He had no one left. Was fate this cruel?

But he questioned that. Was he truly alone in his life? He had Hermione, and Ron, and Sirius was still alive. Remus too. But his question was, is that enough? Who can make up for the loss of your parents?

"None can replace them." Said a very old and tired voice.

Harry turned around, startled. "What?"

"No one person can replace your parents. It is impossible, that which you seek." It was a man, his face cloaked in light.

"How did you-" Harry began.

"How did I know what you wanted?" The man asked, a smile evident in his voice.

"Well, yes." Harry replied.

The man walked towards Harry, until he was standing right in front of him. His face was old and gnarled, and he seemed oddly distinguished. His short beard was black with streaks of gray in it. His long black hair blended perfectly with the rest of his face, making him seem almost Dumbledore-esque. Harry's eyes finally found the stranger's, only to find they were not so strange after all. Harry's eyes did the all-too-familiar flick up to the old man's forehead, where a slim lightning bolt scar resided.

The man smiled at Harry. "Yes, Harry. I am you."

"I'm you?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Not quite." The older Harry laughed.

Younger Harry frowned. He had always hated when people spoke in riddles. It was that trait Harry loathed in Dumbledore. That was a man that almost always spoke in riddles.

Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of the fog covering his senses. "Where are we?" He asked his older self.

"We are in your mind." The man replied.

"That clears everything up." Harry muttered sarcastically.

"No, you aren't dead, no, I'm not from the future, and no, I will not tell you the lottery numbers for next week." Older Harry explained with a smirk.

"Stop doing that!" Young Harry snapped irritably.

"What?"

"The whole... Funny thing! My life is not a joke that you can just toss around!" Harry yelled.

Old Harry stared. "I should have listened to Jack."

"Who the hell is Jack?" Harry raged.

Sensing an explosion, Old Harry held up his hands in the age old surrender position. "Relax. Jack is your subconscious."

"Why the hell did you name my subconscious?"

"It's hard just calling each other Harry all the time." Old Harry explained.

The older Harry glanced down at a watch that most certainly hadn't been there seconds before, and loudly exclaimed, "My God, we're late!"

The fog that had covered Harry's vision began to recede, and Harry noted that his older self was getting fainter.

"Remember!" His older self seemed to be yelling. "This never happened. It was all just in your head."

Harry shook his head, wondering if he should be checked into an asylum, when he noticed that his eyes were closed. He certainly did not remember closing them, so he opened them and immediately squinted. Bright orange light flickered behind his eyelids, blazing high into the bright sky. He slowly opened them, eyes adjusting to the enormously bright lights. Flames, towering twenty feet high, flickered and licked at a massive, twisted, metallic structure. Glinting in the mid-day sun, metal shards littered the street around him, looking like a field of knives. Blood dripped from the structure, joining a puddle so horrifyingly large it would take a man the size of Hagrid to make it.

Shielding his eyes from the sun, he slowly walked forward, each step deliberate and controlled. He stepped up to the glittering wreck and lightly, ever so lightly, touched it. He ran his hands along the side of the bus, feeling the dents and dimples in the worn metal.

He quickly became aware he was not alone when a shadow crept up behind him. He tensed, ready to attack, and whirled around. The spell died on his lips when he saw Gabrielle fearful visage staring back at him with wide eyes. They stood there, not knowing what to say, for almost an eternity. Finally, Gabrielle opened her lips to speak.

"We should go. I casted a notice-me-not charm on us, but that won't divert the Muggle's attention forever."

Harry nodded, and carefully followed her through the wreckage.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was regretfully not being hit by a double-decker bus, however much he may have preferred that option. The media were circling like sharks, and he was the main target. Fudge had just come from an international Press Conference, where he announced they had a suspect in the politically charged homicides. When the reporters asked where the prisoner was being held, Fudge had no choice but to reveal that the suspect had escaped. Publicly humiliated, one reporter from the international Wizarding Times asked why his Aurors were so ineffectual.

To top it all off, the head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones, was extremely angry at him. She was currently sitting in his office, glaring furiously at him.

"What right," She began, "do you have to authorize lethal force?" She gestured wildly, smashing her fist on the Minister's desk. "Damnit, this is _my_ department. I should be the only one to make such important decisions."

Fudge's face grew red, and he swelled with rage. "WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO? Kirk said the evidence was conclusive, there was no chance it wasn't him!" Fudge plopped down into his comfy swivel chair, breathing loudly.

Amelia snorted. "Kirk is an idiot. The only reason he's even a captain is because _you_ decided that he deserved it." Amelia shook her head. "Because of your stupidity, we've lost our prime suspect in a quadruple-homicide. Not to mention the Hogwarts Board of Governors are suing the Ministry for damages, and the French Ambassador is demanding an update on our investigation."

Fudge looked curious. "Kirk said they brought their own Aurors."

Amelia's eyes flashed with barely controlled rage. "They did. Kirk's team vanished the remains, citing the fact that they had 'closed' the investigation." She rolled her eyes. "I told you Kirk was an idiot."

Fudge sighed. "And I should have listened to you, Amelia."

"Damn straight."

* * *

**The Wizarding Times:**

**Britain Bungles Again**

_by Aria Skeeter_

_British Minister Cornelius Oswald Fudge held a press conference last night, announcing that the investigation was closed._

_"Our brave Aurors faced down the suspect and an accomplice, shattering the massively powerful wards protecting them." The Minister announced proudly. However, when one reporter asked for the suspects name, the minister refused to comment. "That's confidential information, and I can't go around trumpeting it to reporters."_

_While the minister's comment sparked many new questions, the next response that the Minister would give would far outweigh the curiosity of the first._

_When asked where the prisoner was being held, the Minister shamefully admitted that his Aurors 'Did the best they could', but the 'suspect evaded capture'._

_Anarchy reigned in the conference room as reporters shot question after question at Minister Fudge, who refused to answer any more questions. It appears that Britain has yet again bungled another investigation, much like the one for Sirius Black. The question is, who is the killer, where is he hiding, and is he really guilty like the Britons say? Those are questions only able to be answered by the suspect himself, and he sure isn't talking._

* * *

**Daily Prophet**

**Harry Potter, Missing?**

_by Rita Skeeter_

_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who is under investigation by the British Aurors, has revealed under veritaserum that Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, and Triwizard competitor extraordinaire has disappeared from Hogwarts. Dumbledore has testified that he does not know exactly where Harry is, only that he has left the country. This begs the question; Is Dumbledore really up to the job of Headmaster if he can't even keep his favorite student in the country?_

_One Ministry spokesman said they couldn't reveal why they were interrogating Dumbledore for the exact whereabouts of young Harry, but did say that 'He' would be facing harsh criminal charges. When yours truly asked whether it was Harry or Dumbledore who was facing the charges, a black-suited Auror led the spokesman away, refusing to answer questions._

_Is Harry Potter a criminal? If not, why is he on the run? The last, and worst possibility is, did Dumbledore help Harry escape justice?_

_Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondant_


	6. Haven

**I don't own Harry Potter any more than you do.**

**AN: Review. I wait for feedback before I write the next chapter. It seems to prevent stupid mistakes from being made. Like one reviewer who asked where the hell Madam Bones was when Fudge issued the warrant. Now, I have one more way to make Fudge's life hell. If there's anything you think I should include because it would improve the story, tell me. Even flames, if they're not just "This story sucks". Compliments are nice too, though :)**

**Chapter Six: Haven**

Lucius Malfoy was having an exceptionally good day. His main competition for the Minister's influence was just arrested for obstruction of justice, and that left Malfoy with almost unlimited power. He cackled evilly, knowing that his master would reward him greatly when he returned to power.

Lucius took a step back and reevaluated the situation. He found that if he did that every time a major variable changed, he could find rare opportunities to discredit and destroy that which did not please him, like that ridiculous ban on terrorism.

What did he now have that he didn't before? Sole access to the Minister's ear. What could he do with that? He could... discredit Dumbledore even further, making it impossible for him to regain his old position of advisor. With an evil grin, Lucius began to think.

* * *

In the Minister's office, Lucius Malfoy was whispering rumors into the ears of the Minister, and Fudge was just eating it all up.

"I heard a rumor," Lucius began, cautiously manipulating the Minister, "that Nicolas Flamel is working on a way to counteract Veritaserum."

The Minister scoffed. "That's impossible. All the Ministry experts say so."

Lucius internally rolled his eyes. Even his son wasn't that arrogant. "You remember, the Ministry experts also said Immortality was impossible."

Fudge stopped dead. "Yes," He said worriedly, "Flamel does have a tendency to do what experts deem 'impossible', doesn't he."

Lucius smirked. He had the Minister thinking about it. He would let the Minister come to his own conclusions, carefully directed of course.

"Dumbledore and Flamel are old friends, of course," Fudge said worriedly, pacing behind his ornately decorated antique desk. "Who knows. Perhaps Dumbledore was helping him."

"Weren't you interrogating Albus under Veritaserum?" Lucius asked slyly.

"Yes, yes I was." Fudge said idly. "What does that-" Fudge paused, a look of horror dawning on his face. "You don't think-" He stopped.

Smirking internally with victory, Lucius asked, "Think what, Minister?"

Fudge stood up with a look of fury on his face. "That old bastard has been lying to me under Veritaserum. That's why the evidence doesn't match up!" Fudge cried triumphantly.

"That's horrible of old Albus. I must say, I never did like him." Malfoy said with a slight smug smile. Fudge never noticed, too absorbed in his rage at his old friend.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was shaking. Minister Fudge had strode into the cell, and poured an entire bottle of Veritaserum down his throat. Veritaserum was a very, very powerful truth potion, designed to need only three drops for a grown man. Dumbledore had over forty times the maximum safety limit, and was nearly dead. Even with the antidote, Dumbledore was very ill.

Fudge had demanded to know how he had gotten past the Veritaserum, and would not accept the fact that he didn't. "YOU'RE LYING!" He'd shout, enraged. "TELL THE TRUTH!"

At that point, the extreme amount of Veritaserum in his body canceled itself out, wreaking havoc on his ancient body. So Dumbledore felt no compulsion at all when he said, "YOU WANT THE TRUTH? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

That smart-ass comment had gotten him yet another bottle of Veritaserum shoved down his throat. After another two hours of angry interrogation, Dumbledore was shoved back into his cold, drafty cell with only a glass of water to help soothe his pain. Dumbledore stood up shakily. Minister Fudge was obviously not going to believe him. It was time to leave.

"Fawkes." Albus said softly, calling the beautiful red and gold phoenix.

With a flash of red and gold fire, the majestic bird appeared, hovering for a moment before landing on the iron bedpost. The bird cocked it's head, and Dumbledore held out his hand. A few clear drops of liquid fell from Fawkes' eye into Albus' outstretched hand. Albus eagerly sipped at the liquid, tasting the sour taste of his favorite sweet, Lemon Drops. Immediately, he felt perfectly healed.

"Come now, Fawkes. It is time to leave. Take us to France." Dumbledore instructed. With a nod, the phoenix jumped up, grabbed Dumbledore's hand with his talons. With a bright burst of flame that scorched the dark stone floor of his cell, the duo flashed away.

* * *

Amelia Bones was not pleased in the least with the Minister. She paced back and forth like an angry tiger, an unprecedented look of fury on her face. If she had been any angrier there would have been sparks of fire shooting out of her wand. As it was, Fudge's beautiful antique desk lay in smoldering ruins. Amelia never had liked that desk, as it was bought by Lucius Malfoy. She suspected he had an hand in this nonsense, and did not like it one bit.

She whirled around as she heard the door creak open. Minister Fudge walked in, oblivious to Amelia's fury. He hung his bowler hat on his coat rack, and turned around to see his desk in ruins.

"My desk!" He howled. "What happened to my desk!"

Amelia glared at him. "What happened to your desk is going to happen to your face if you don't stop breaking protocol."

Fudge looked shocked for a split second, then glared at Amelia with a blazing, fury-filled heart. "AMELIA! YOU'RE FIRED! I SHOULD HAVE DONE IT A LONG TIME AGO!"

Amelia felt shock. She never actually thought he would fire her. "You can't do that!" She said, dazed.

"Then I'll go to the Wizengamot and they'll do it for me!" Fudge thundered.

Amelia recovered quickly. "That's preposterous," She snapped, "You wouldn't survive twenty minutes without me."

"Be that as it may," He began, "you have stepped on my toes for the last time. Get out."

Amelia turned and walked through the door. She supposed she shouldn't have lost her temper and destroyed his desk, but he deserved it. She hated when justice was not served, and Cornelius Fudge was, for some inexplicable reason, against justice.

"Bah," She muttered angrily, "He won't have to fire me. I quit."

* * *

Harry and Gabrielle pushed through the crowded Parisian streets, fighting against the wave of bystanders who were going to investigate the deadly crash. They carefully sliced their way through, like fish swimming through a school of minnows. Harry felt sick. He had yet again caused the death of another human being, intentional or not. The gasps of horror from the crowd did not help his heaving stomach, nor did the soft zapping sound of the EMTs trying to resuscitate someone. From the sound of their shouts, they were not succeeding.

Harry's head whirled as Gabrielle led him gently to the sidewalk, plopping down on the curb. "I think I'm going to be sick." She whispered in shock.

"Me too." Harry replied, and immediately doubled over, spewing profusely into the cold iron bars of the gutter drain. He panted, on his hands and knees, spit dripping from his lips. "They didn't deserve it." Harry said softly, horrified. "They didn't deserve it and I killed them."

Gabrielle sobbed. "We killed them, Harry. We did." Tears fell from her face to the pavement below, mingling with the dust and dirt of the Paris streets. They rolled down to the drain, mingling with the puddle of scum beneath the city.

"What are we going to do?" He asked desperately, his voice hoarse.

"You are going to pull yourself together, and you are going to go to your safe house." A familiar voice said sternly. Harry looked up in shock.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

Albus smiled serenely. "Yes, young Harry. Quickly now. I'm quite noticeable in these robes."

Harry looked down at Dumbledore's lurid pink robes, pointed wizard's hat, and distinguished ruffled boots. Harry couldn't resist opportunity. "Sir, you look like you escaped from the loony bin."

Dumbledore smirked. "I assure you, I did not escape from a bank."

Harry looked confused, before shaking it off and becoming serious. "Professor, your attempt to distract me did not work."

"I beg to differ, however we really do need to be going." Dumbledore said, taking Harry's hand and pulling him up. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Dumbledore waved his hand, and Harry's nauseous feeling dissapeared, as well as the disgusting aftertaste in his mouth.

"Come now. Where is your home, dear girl?" Dumbledore asked Gabrielle.

Gabrielle seemed to pull herself together. "Down the street. If you tap the glass window on that boutique and say 'Delacour Mansion', it will appear to you and your companions."

Dumbledore smiled thankfully. "Follow me."

* * *

The Delacour Mansion was a veritable fortress. The massive stone walls rose miles into the air, and were several broomstick-lengths thick. The entire structure was protected by wards stronger than those of Hogwarts, and Dumbledore doubted even Grindelwald himself could have broken in, and he was a master at wards.

"Admiring the defenses, Headmaster?" Gabrielle asked slyly.

"They are incredible." He conceded. "How did you obtain such an excellent craftsman?"

Gabrielle smirked, and replied with a warm tone. "Professor Dumbledore, my Maman is a Veela."

Dumbledore looked shocked for a moment, then broke out laughing.

Gabrielle walked up to the wrought-iron gate, and pressed her palm to a shiny panel on the stone wall beside the door. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the door slid open, creaking and groaning all the way. Inside, the antechamber was lit with torches flickering, making the metal highlights glitter brilliantly.

Gabrielle walked again to a silver panel, but this time she impaled her finger upon a small blade jutting from the rock. She removed her finger as Harry yelled in shock. Quickly, she pressed the cut to the smooth, cool metal, and the inner ornately carved door opened. When she removed her finger, no trace of the cut remained.

"Magic." Gabrielle responded to Harry's incredulous look.

With a superior attitude, she strode through the door, Harry and Albus following closely. The doors shut behind them with a loud crash, and the torches which illuminated the room they just vacated were extinguished, leaving nothing but glowing embers glittering in the dark.

* * *

**AN: A loonie is one dollar in Canadian currency.**


	7. Phantasms

**I don't own Harry Potter. I said that 6 times already.**

**AN: Review, fellow human beings. Minister Fudge will poison you with Veritaserum if you don't.**

**WARNING! Contains graphic descriptions of decomposing bodies. This chapter may give you nightmares if you scare easily. You have been warned.**

**Chapter Seven: Phantasms**

Harry sat by the water's edge, looking out at the shimmering moonlight's reflection. Somewhere, Remus was experiencing a painful transformation, but Harry was content just to sit and watch the water. Far off, he heard the call of a mockingbird, and sighed. He listened as the wind gently blew through the trees, caressing the leaves and branches. He watched as ripples slowly floated away from his feet, which were dangling in the water. Tears poured down his face as he remembered the people who had died because of his actions the last two days. His memories unleashed a flood of pent-up emotions, curling up into a ball and sobbing uncontrollably.

He heard dainty, light footsteps and turned. Instead of Gabrielle, he saw the charred skeleton of a girl. She wore a burnt Beauxbatons uniform, torn in places and covered with dirt and slime. She opened her mouth, and Harry saw worms and bugs crawling in her mouth, writhing and wriggling madly.

"You." She rasped. "You are responsible. You killed me."

Another decomposing body stepped up from behind the girl. "Murderer!" She cried angrily, bits of worm flying out of her mouth. Her remaining flesh drooped, and a whitish ooze dripped slowly from her nose. Her head was tilted at a sharp angle, and he realized that her neck was broken.

"No, please, I-" Harry pleaded.

"You killed us!" The girls rasped, their eye sockets gaping.

"I DIDN'T! I SWEAR I-" Harry pleaded, but before he could continue a cold, clammy, wet hand gripped his leg. He whirled around to face another body.

The man's chest had been completely crushed. Jagged edges of white bone poked through his skin, coated in blood. His eyes were vacant, unfocused. The man's body was covered with shards of metal, and a spike ran clear through his head. "You killed me!" The man screamed, a horrible, otherworldly scream. "MURDERER!" He yelled. Behind the man, on the lake, Harry saw another figure rise, dripping.

His face was covered in blood, and his arm was hanging loose on a bit of skin. He walked bowlegged, and stumbled before regaining his footing. Burn marks from the EMTs' paddles stood out on his chest prominently. "MURDERER!" The man yelled.

Harry covered his ears, but their horrifying screams seared directly into his brain. "MURDERER!" They screamed in unison, creating a terrible cacophony of rasping, gasping noise.

"NO!" Harry screamed loudly, bolting out of bed instantly. "I didn't!" Harry continued to plead. "It wasn't me!" Sobbing uncontrollably, he wept, muttering 'It wasn't me' over and over again, rocking back and forth.

* * *

Lord Voldemort, leader of the terrorist group 'the Death Eaters' was currently cackling madly in his secret lair, Riddle Manor. His spy at Hogwarts had informed him that both Dumbledore and Potter were now fugitives, suspects in a quadruple-homicide. Additionally, Cornelius Fudge had fired Amelia Bones, the only competent leader the Aurors had since the war with Grindelwald. To top it all off, Fudge had hired Lucius Malfoy, a devoted servant, to be her replacement. Yes, Voldemort had plans.

Voldemort's infantile face screwed up in concentration. His small arms were pathetic for spell casting, but it was enough. His skin was pale, almost translucent. His nose was squished flat, much like a bulldog's, and his lips were a pale blue. He was nightmarish, wearing a ghastly black robe that was much too large for him. He felt ridiculous, and when Dark Lords feel ridiculous, they tend to become irritable, like he was now.

"Wormtail." Voldemort snapped. A fat man with a rat-like face came rushing in.

"Yes, my lord?" Wormtail asked, quivering in fear.

Voldemort smirked. Ah, the perks of power. "Approach Lucius. Tell him to meet me here."

"At once, my lord." Wormtail scurried out of the room like the devil was on his heels. An apt metaphor, since if Wormtail had been even a second slower, the Cruciatus curse would have hit him right on his fat, lazy bottom instead of blowing up the floor beneath him.

_This is the life_, Voldemort thought smugly._ Torture, murder, and evil plots._

* * *

Bolt walked the empty halls of Hogwarts, listening intently for any signs of danger. His Master had left him here, so here he would stay. But he knew he could not ignore the students of Hogwarts, so he decided to patrol the halls to protect them. Already, he stopped four altercations with Draco Malfoy by stunning him when his back was turned.

At the far end of the hall, Bolt's ears perked up. He twisted his head, eavesdropping on Draco speaking with Professor Moody. He strained to hear their words, and leaned closer to the sound.

"Come now, boy." Moody was saying. "The Dark Lord wants you to inform your father that he is needed. Tell him Barty Crouch Junior sent you."

"But you aren't Barty Crouch!" Draco protested loudly.

"Shut up, someone might hear!" Moody whispered intently.

"Fine. I'll tell him if you stop bothering me." Draco sulked.

"Go!" Moody snarled.

Draco ran off in the direction of the Slytherin Common room, calling loudly over his shoulder. "You better keep your promise."

Moody rolled his good eye, and whispered, "I never made a promise, moron." Chuckling to himself, he started clomping up the stairs. Bolt quickly hid himself in the shadows, processing what was said.

Bolt now knew that Moody was not who he said he was, and that was something. Now, the only thing left to do was to figure out who the hell Barty Crouch Junior was. Bolt knew from Harry's memories that if he wanted information, the best source would be Hermione.

Bolt dashed down the halls until he reached the Gryffindor portrait guardian, the Fat Lady. He quickly entered the pet's entrance, and ran up the girl's dorm stairs. He pounded on the door marked 'Fourth Years', and within seconds, the door flew open. Hermione was looking out, eyes scanning the hall, until Bolt mind-yelled her name. Her eyes flew downwards and she sighed in relief.

"Bolt?" She asked, "Why are you here?"

Bolt began pacing. "_**Do you know anything about someone named Barty Crouch Junior?**_" He rumbled, feet quickening their pace upon the lush carpeting.

"Yes, he's Barty Crouch's son." Hermione said, slightly bewildered. "He was convicted of torturing Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom. Why?"

Bolt ran away, calling his thanks over his shoulder, leaving poor Hermione standing in the doorway in a daze.

Bolt sped through the portrait hole, mentally on alert, searching for Moody. He intended to confront him, and bring him to justice. Running through what he knew of Crouch's abilities, he gathered that Crouch would be a very tough opponent, due to the fact that he could see through walls. He also knew Crouch had magical power, for he saw him effortlessly cast the Unforgivables, which took a lot of power.

Turning a corner, he skidded to a halt as he saw Moody with his wand out and pointed at him.

"Thought you could sneak up on me, eh?" Crouch said gruffly.

"_**I know who you are.**_" Bolt said coldly.

Moody's eye widened slightly, then he shook himself. "You gonna roast me like you roasted those girls?"

It was Bolt's turn to be surprised. "_**You knew?**_" Bolt asked with barely restrained fury.

Crouch laughed a high, cruel, cold laugh that raised the hairs on Bolt's spine. "Of course I knew. It was the perfect opportunity to rid ourselves of a great enemy. The best part is, we didn't even have to alter the evidence. You framed Potter all on your own." Crouch cackled madly, twirling his wand casually.

Bolt growled. "_**YOU BASTARD!**_" With fury in his heart, he opened his maw, bright golden flames flying out and melting the stone walls of the corridor. Crouch just laughed like a loon and raised a translucent golden shield.

"My turn!" Crouch giggled. "_Furtum__ Spinae!_" A jet of black energy shot out of Crouch's wand and tore through the purple fire with ease. Bolt just barely dodged out of the way of the spell, which was extremely lucky because the instant it hit the stone floor, it crumbled and cracked, smashing itself to pieces. Bolt rolled back to his feet just in time to see another spell flying at him. He knocked it away with a beam of gold fire, before launching two bone-breakers at Crouch.

Crouch parried them with jets of purple fire from his wand tip, and screamed at Bolt. "IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO?" Crouch cackled insanely, and summoned a suit of armor to come crashing into Bolt at high speeds. Bolt simply vanished the armor with a wave of his tail, and Barty gave a disappointed sigh.

Crouch had Bolt on the defensive, and Bolt did not like that. As Crouch sent a reductor curse at the floor in front of Bolt, he launched a powerful stream of golden lightning just past Crouch, so Barty would assume he missed. The electric beam hit a suit of armor behind Crouch, and the armor began to glow. Bolt smirked, knowing he had won, and Barty didn't even know it.

Bolt called up all his power, and commanded the lightning to come back to him. He felt the answering call a second later, and Barty's face lost it's color. The golden glow that surrounded the armor began spewing bolts of lightning, tendrils reaching for Barty. With a muffled swear, Barty Crouch vanished a split second before the lightning passed through the space he previously occupied.

The lightning retreated back to the armor, and the glow dissapeared. Bolt stood very still, in shock. Then he began to scream in fury. His prey had gotten away.


	8. Reunion

**I do not own Harry Potter. I do, however, own the plot.**

**AN:This will be the last update for the day, so review. I love them. Voldemort will bake you cookies. And play Kal-Toh with you.**

**Chapter Eight: Reunion**

_Hogwarts, a History _states that no human being can apparate in or out of Hogwarts without the express permission of the Headmaster. It also states that Portkeys act the same way. Bathilda Bagshot, it's author, did extensive research on the subject, attempting to apparate into Hogwarts from the outside, and then examining the wards. Bathilda Bagshot, however, missed one key point. The wards were shaped like a bubble, not a sphere. 'They're the same thing!', you may say. Not quite. You see, no Headmaster wanted to draw attention to the tiny flaw in the ward scheme, for fear of it's abuse. Traditionally, anti-apparation wards were designed to prevent people from apparating at all while inside the wards, preventing criminal escape. The founders discovered that the ward runes for that type, to make it permanent over the entire grounds, required a massive amount of power. To conserve energy, they decided to use a hollow bubble. It acted much like a fence does for physical beings. They can move around anywhere within the boundary, but can't cross the fence. The system worked especially well, and since the consequences of apparating with the anti-apparation wards up were massive, nobody attempted it. That is, until Tom Riddle came to school.

Tom Riddle first became suspicious when he saw Apparation lessons in the Great Hall. He knew that it was impossible to create an irregularly shaped anti-apparation ward without severely weakening the rest, so he did not buy the story that the Headmaster had temporarily dropped the wards in the Great Hall only. He began investigating, scanning the ward systems. He discovered the powerful boundary, and sent one of his followers to apparate to the Great Hall. That was the second student death at Hogwarts while Riddle was a student. Riddle now knew there was another, weaker anti-apparation ward somewhere. He just had to find it.

Riddle spent months obsessing over the mystery, searching for the ward, and finally he found it. The headmaster's office was located in the exact center of the castle, and contained the Ward Control room. Riddle quickly snuck in, searching for the stone. Riddle emerged, triumphant. He knew the exact frequency the smaller ward was operating on, for it was less advanced and could not be changed. Riddle had his victory.

Now, fifty years later, that knowledge was finally being put to use. Barty Crouch barely escaped with his life, and was currently hiding in the Forbidden Forest. He knew he was only alive because of his master's grace and mercy. For that, he would be forever grateful. His loyalty bolstered, he began to plan.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was beaming. His master had contacted him, finally, after thirteen, long years. That sniveling rat Pettigrew was only one of the messengers. The Dark Lord had also sent his son with the message. When Lucius told Draco that he had been a messenger of the Dark Lord, Draco had been ecstatic. He knew Draco understood the great honor bestowed upon him.

"The Dark Lord orders you to report to Riddle Manor." The sniveling traitor informed him, quaking in his boots. Lucius Malfoy was known to be second only to the Dark Lord at his proficiency at the Cruciatus curse.

"Very well." Lucius said, bored. "Get out of my sight."

Wormtail bowed and scurried off, muttering about pureblood bastards.

Lucius smirked, slyly saying. "I'll be sure to tell the Dark Lord you said that."

Wormtail paled, and ran at full tilt to the door. With a loud slamming noise, the door closed behind him. Lucius cackled cruelly.

"Ah, it's good to be me." Lucius said softly, watching the rat race to the manor gates.

* * *

Gabrielle awoke to the familiar sound of her mother baking pancakes. The crackling sound never failed to wake her, and the smell of syrup and pancake batter wafted past her nose. She sighed. It was good to be home.

Gabrielle stood up, and begun changing into her day clothes. She put on a light pink shirt and a faded denim skirt. She did her hair up in a ponytail, and walked out the door.

Her parents were in the kitchen, playing. Her father was eating a pancake noisily, exaggerating his movements and moans, attempting to get a reaction from her mother. Her mother, however, just smiled and smacked his arm.

"Ew. Enough of that, guys." Gabrielle complained, nauseated.

Her father turned around and saw Gabrielle standing at the door, and he smirked. "Dear, I think we need to have that discussion."

Gabrielle looked confused for a moment, then remembered. "You mean the one about why me, Harry, and Headmaster Dumbledore turned up at noon dead tired and looking like we got ran over by a bus?"

Her father smiled. "Yes, that one."

Gabrielle turned around. "I'll get Harry."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Her father joked.

Her mother continued. "Dear, there isn't much you wouldn't do."

Gabrielle left to the sounds of playful arguing, walking down the hall to the guest room. The hall was bright and full of life, it's soft beige carpet contrasting nicely with the light red walls. Every few meters crystal torch-holders sprung from the wall, emitting a comfortable, soft light. Gabrielle's footsteps were muted, softly padding against the lush carpeting.

She arrived at an ornately carved oak door, and slowly opened the door. She walked in, and looked at the plush bed only to find Harry was not in bed. She looked around the room, nearly missing him, before she saw him. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, sleeping. She furrowed her brow, and walked to him. She gently knelt down, examining him. He had deep circles under his eyes, and tear-tracks stained his face.

She gently shook him awake. "Harry, why are you on the floor looking like you spent the night crying?"

Harry blinked, bleary-eyed, and replied softly, "Because I spent the night crying, and I have no idea."

Gabrielle looked at him with sympathy. "What happened?"

Harry smiled bravely. "I had a bad dream. That's all." He reassured her. "It happens all the time. I'm fine."

Gabrielle looked at him with more worry. "You go get cleaned up and meet us in the kitchen. Just down the hall to your left." She smiled. "We're having pancakes." She turned and left the room, pausing slightly outside his door, before continuing on.

Harry was grateful for the time, because he was sure he looked like Death had just come knocking on his door. Which, in a sense, it had. Harry ran to the attached bathroom, and inspected himself in the mirror. He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs from his brain, and poured cold water in his hands from the sink. He splashed the water on his face, waking him and washing his tear-tracks off at the same time.

Harry looked at the mirror again, this time with approval. He still had circles under his eyes, but they were less pronounced, and barely noticeable. His hair was messy, but not too messy that it was indecent. He tilted his head, getting different angles, and finally pronounced himself ready. He threw on a clean pair of clothes and exited his room.

When Harry arrived in the kitchen, he found that everyone else was already present. Dumbledore, standing there looking too old to be allowed to wear a tie-dye shirt and loose, baggy pants. Gabrielle, standing in the corner and laughing at a joke her parents had just told. Her parents, arms around each other, looking like the perfect parents with their pearly smiles.

"Hi." Harry said, nervous.

"Hello Harry." Gabrielle's father said, smiling. "Good sleep?"

"Yes." Harry lied.

"Peace, dude." Dumbledore said, showing Harry a peace sign with his fingers. Harry stood there, bemused.

"Professor, you know that went out of style thirty years ago." Harry said, chuckling.

Dumbledore looked serene in his reply. "Yeah, man, it's a conspiracy."

Everyone broke out laughing, and it took several minutes to get back on track.

"Alright guys. Harry here is on the run for killing those bullies when they tried to kill me, but he didn't do it." Gabrielle blurted out really quickly.

Harry stared. "Jeez, way to break it to a guy easy."

Gabrielle's father nodded, then looked shocked. "Wait, those girls tried to kill you?"

"Yup." She said, popping the 'p'.

"And Harry didn't kill them, but the Aurors think he did." He asked slowly.

"Minister Fudge issued an arrest warrant authorizing the use of deadly force." Dumbledore added gravely.

Mister Delacour took a deep breath. "I'll call in some favors and get you Asylum in France." He promised fervently.

"Thank you, Mister Delacour." Harry replied, grateful and relieved.

Mister Delacour's face broke out into a wide smile. "Call me Allan."

"Only if you call me Harry." He joked.

"That still doesn't explain why_ you_ look like you were ran over by a bus, Gabrielle." Her mother said teasingly.

Gabrielle looked sheepish. "That might be because we portkeyed directly onto the road and got ran over by a bus. Harry barely put a shield up in time."

The Delacour's jaws were on the floor. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"Bullshit." Said Allan.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy, DMLE, was having the best day of his life. His master had given him a genius plan, and had taken care of everything. All Lucius had to do was make it happen.

"Minister," He began, "I've had a genius idea."

The Minister looked across his brand new desk at Lucius. "What's your idea?" He asked snappishly.

"Loyalty." The Minister's ears perked up now.

"How so?" He asked.

Lucius smiled. This was easier than taking candy from a baby. "I have taken the liberty of hiring a spell-crafter to design a most useful spell."

"What does the spell do?" Fudge asked eagerly.

"The spell instills in the target a sense of duty to one's country, and the need to follow the chain of command." Lucius said truthfully. "If we cast the spell on all our Aurors, there would be no dissent."

Fudge frowned. "But isn't that kind of like slavery?"

Lucius' upper lip twitched. "No, of course not. The spell is deactivated as soon as a mission is complete, or the Auror quits." He lied through his shiny, white teeth.

The Minister sat back, relieved. "Oh, that's alright then."

"You see, Minister, currently Aurors feel like they can do whatever they want without any consequences. It's anarchy, and I want to help." Lucius goaded. "Imagine the glory the Aurors would bring back. The first truly cohesive unit, functioning as parts of a greater whole. Parts of Britain, instead of just civilians with badges."

The Minister bit his lip, undecided. It certainly seemed to be a perfect solution to their problems, but he had heard that muggle saying, 'Too good to be true'. However, Lucius had never let him down in the past. He debated internally, never really coming to a conclusion. Finally fed up, he simplified the question to whether or not he trusted Lucius. And the answer to that question was a most resounding yes.

Minister Fudge pulled open a drawer, rummaging around in it. Finally he pulled out a lime-green stamp and a wax self-heated plate. He grabbed the official Ministerial Blood Quill, and took the paper offered. He quickly signed his name at the bottom, folded the piece of paper, and placed it in the envelope. He slowly closed the flap, sealing it until it was owled to the Department of Ministerial Records. Slowly and carefully, he placed the lime-green stamp above the letter, and slowly sealed Britain's fate.


	9. Chain of Command

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Voldemort has decided to retract his offer of playing Kal-Toh with you, because ILikeComps kept kicking his pasty ass. (Sorry Voldie, it's true)**

**Chapter Nine: Chain of Command**

Captain Dayta Song stood at the front of the line to enter the private briefing that was mandatory for every official in the Auror Corps. Word was that Lucius Malfoy was initiating a new training program designed to augment the Aurors' teamwork and battle abilities. Many Aurors immediately resigned their commissions, suspicious of Director Malfoy's motives. Others immediately jumped at the chance for extra power. Dayta simply reported for duty, to fight for his country.

The door to Director Malfoy's interview office burst open, and the stony-faced Ensign assigned to guard Malfoy waved him in impatiently. Dayta snapped to attention and marched forward. Inside the office, Malfoy was sitting in a comfy armchair behind a desk that almost exuded power. Malfoy's face was a warm, inviting mask while his black leather uniform wore the multicolored badges of honor and rank. He gestured at Dayta to sit in the less comfortable metal chair on the opposite side of the desk, and Dayta did.

"So. Captain Song, how would you like to become a part of the future?" Director Malfoy inquired politely.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Dayta asked.

Malfoy looked intrigued. "Granted."

"I don't much enjoy the riddles, sir. I would respectfully request that you get to the point." Dayta sat tall and proud.

"Very well." Malfoy looked impressed. He leaned forward, arms resting on his desk, and pulled off his dragonhide gloves. "The Ministry has been developing an experimental form of training designed to augment your physical, magical, and especially mental capabilities."

Captain Song raised a single eyebrow, intrigued. "What does that entail?"

Malfoy gave a predatory grin, which would have terrified even the toughest war veteran, and explained. "It increases your strength, speed, agility, magical power, capacity for learning, and this is my favorite part," He paused for dramatic effect, "You gain telepathic connections with your squad."

Song's eyebrows shot to his receding hairline in shock. "What?"

Director Malfoy leaned back, satisfied that Song was convinced. "You heard me. It's been approved for military use."

"With squads like those, Britain would once again become the superpower of the world." Dayta completed, any objections utterly decimated by the realization that Britain would be all-powerful once more.

"All you have to do, Captain, is sign here." Malfoy pushed the authorization form towards him. "Here's a quill."

With a flourish of the ornate peacock feather quill, Auror Captain Dayta Jayden Song brought Lucius Malfoy one step closer to absolute power, and by proxy, his leader, Lord Voldemort.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, on newly created level Thirteen, thousands of Aurors were being magically enhanced using a spell created by Lord Voldemort himself. The whole thing was hush-hush, classified as 'top secret' by the very highest levels of the Ministry. There were even rumors that the Minister himself had ordered the secrecy, citing national security. Red and green lights flashed in sequences understandable only to the operators who were sworn to secrecy with a magically binding oath. The shrieks of pain coming from the transformation chambers were ignored, so commonplace that it really wasn't anything special anymore. A metal door slid open, lime vapor billowing out. Two Ensigns stepped into the room and dragged the unconscious Auror from the room, gripping under his shoulders.

The commanding officer on deck sneered at the weak-minded fools. He himself had gone through his augmentation without any screaming whatsoever. He knew that the will of Lucius Malfoy was greater than his own, and he gained strength for his loyalty.

The officer held out his palm, and quickly twisted it into a fist, smashing it into his chest. "Long Live the Empire!" The officer shouted. All around him, other officers mimicked him with perfect timing.

"Long Live the Empire!" They chorused simultaneously, jumping to attention.

"At ease!" The CO yelled, turning to the Emperor's messenger, who had just exited the lift. "Report."

The messenger swallowed, and spoke clearly. "Sir, Director Malfoy wishes an update on your progress."

The CO nodded. "He shall have a complete report within the hour. Long Live the Empire!"

"Long Live the Empire." The messenger repeated.

"Damn straight." The CO muttered as he watched the ensign walk away nervously.

* * *

Harry exited the French Ministry of Magic with a smile on his face. Following him was Allan, Appoline, and Gabrielle Delacour and a small contingent of French Aurors. It was apparently extremely easy to gain asylum from Britain, as no other sane country trusted their judicial system. It was only lucky that the Death Eaters like Bellatrix would never stoop to asking help from the _French, _since it was so easy. All he had to do was enter the building, get a background check from countries _other_ than Britain, swear a magical oath that he didn't commit the crime, and he was a free man.

"Step back, ma'am." Harry heard from one of the Aurors. He whirled around, and caught a sight he hoped he would never have seen again.

"Rita." He glared coldly. She smiled faintly at him, pulling out her ugly lime-green Quick-Quotes-Quill.

"Yes, dear? Would you like to make a statement?" She smiled sweetly. "Everyone in Britain knows you're a criminal now."

Harry stared. "I was granted asylum here. Now, I don't have to speak to you."

Rita smiled, victorious. "I have all I need." She apparated away, the sharp crack echoing throughout the crowded buildings.

Harry sighed in relief. "Thank God she's gone."

Allan frowned in suspicion. "How did she know you were here?"

Harry laughed, and explained how Hermione figured out Rita was an illegal animagus. "So, she spied on you?" Allan furrowed his brow more.

"Don't worry about it."

Gabrielle grinned. "You know what we're going to do now, Harry?"

Harry looked confused. "No, what?"

"SHOPPING!" The excited squeal rang through the air, shocking a few birds out of their trees.

* * *

Minister of Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge spit out his morning tea at the headlines in the Daily Prophet. With wide, panicked eyes, he yelled to his secretary. He was there in a flash, with a clipboard clutched tightly in his hands.

"Yes Minister?" Percy asked pompously.

"Cancel my midmorning tea, Wetherby." Fudge looked back at the paper with worry in his eyes. "Make that midmorning, afternoon, _and_ evening."

Percy looked shocked. The Minister never canceled his tea appointments. It was one of his few good traits that people actually respected. "Yes, Minister."

Percy wondered what the hell was in the Daily Prophet that made the Minister so edgy, and resolved to find out. He quickly floo-called the people the Minister was supposed to meet with, and apologized profusely, explaining that there was a Ministry emergency. They glared at Percy suspiciously, and he rapidly exited the fire like a normal, sane human being would do if he found his head in a fire.

Percy was growing ever more curious about the contents of the paper, so finally he went down to the Ministry Atrium, which sold the Daily Prophet to passersby and Ministry workers. Percy fished out a few Knuts and tossed them to the stand owner, quickly ripping a paper off the rack. Eagerly he rushed back to his office, intent on reading the article that had the Minister so worried.

He jumped into his comfy armchair behind his smaller desk, and began to read.

**Daily Prophet**

**France Grants Harry Potter Asylum**

_by Rita Skeeter_

_Earlier this morning, Harry Potter exited the French Ministry of Magic, pardoned of any crimes committed in the Britain. He was extremely smug as he explained how all he had to do was ask, and the French followed his every whim. A small contingent of French Aurors followed him around for security, pushing this reporter away when I attempted to ask Potter a few questions. He turned around smugly, and proceeded to brag that the 'Damn Britons can't touch me now.'_

_The Minister of France refused to comment, however reliable sources say that the Minister has confirmed Death Eater ties. It is unknown where exactly Mister Potter is staying, however he was with the family of the French Triwizard combatant during his pardoning ceremony, indicating a potential tie to the family._

_This reporter hopes that the British Ministry will not take this sitting down, and fight for our honor, and for justice. For if they do, what are we? Just another weak-minded country?_

_Special Correspondent, Rita Skeeter._

Percy's jaw was on the floor. "Holy-"

"Wetherby!" Fudge yelled. "Get in here Wetherby!"

Percy came rushing in. "Yes, Minister?"

Fudge's face turned an ugly purple color. "Get Lucius in here, on the double!" he yelled, spit flying out of his mouth.

Percy snapped to attention. "At once, sir."

Lucius walked through the open door. "There's no need, Percy. I'm right here." He said, addressing Percy. He turned to Fudge. "I assume this is about the paper, and since I'm here I can also assume diplomatic channels have failed."

Fudge glared at the flickering fire. "The god damned Minister won't take my call."

Lucius smirked. "I have over half of the Corps converted and ready for deployment."

Fudge was shocked. "That fast?" He mumbled.

"Yes," Lucius admitted, "I anticipated a situation such as this, and took steps to make sure we could retaliate."

Fudge's eyes narrowed. "Deploy them. I'm declaring war on France."

Lucius's face broke into an evil grin. "At once, Minister."

* * *

Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin, and Dark Lord supreme, was sitting in his throne room listening to Lucius's report. "Finally, my Lord, Fudge has declared war on France." Lucius completed. Voldemort grinned.

"All is going according to plan." He cackled evilly. Lucius made to leave, but Voldemort stopped him. "Lucius, Lucius, Lucius." He chided. "I have not dismissed you. I have a mission for your troops."

"Yes, my Lord?" Lucius asked fearfully.

"I wish you to destroy the Delacour family. They are a stain on our proud world, mating with subhuman scum." The disdain was evident in Voldemort's voice. "Kill them all."

Lucius sighed in relief. "Yes, of course my Lord."

"Begone." Voldemort snapped. He sighed. "Wait. If the boy is with them, bring him to me. Alive."

Lucius bowed. "Is that all, milord?"

"Yes. Begone, before I become too bored of your presence."

* * *

Deep in the Ministry, Section Thirteen gathered their forces. Every Auror present was nearly identical. Stony-faced, their bodies were enormous and burly. They stood in rows, perfectly straight, at attention for hours. Their faces betrayed no emotion, and their wands lay in identical hip holsters.

Lucius Malfoy walked into Section Thirteen, and in unison every single Auror raised their hands in salute. "Long Live the Empire!" They shouted tonelessly.

Malfoy nodded approvingly. "At ease. Aurors, we are at war. Earlier today, our illustrious leader declared France to be an enemy country, and ordered the mobilization of our army." Lucius paused. "Aurors, make me proud."

"Yes, Sir!" The chorus echoed ominously around the room, a terrifyingly real sound. The sound of unity under the flag of Emperor Voldemort.

"Move out!"


	10. The Battle

**I don't own Harry Potter. Period. End of story.**

**AN: Blah Blah Blah Blah Review or Voldemort will slaughter your family. It's funny, because two reviewers have commented on similarities to Captain America, only I haven't read any Captain America comics, or watched the movie.**

**Chapter Ten: The Battle**

Harry ran full tilt to the majestic mansion, smiling as he sent laugh over his shoulder. Wind whipped around his body, and he soared like an eagle diving to meet it's prey. Behind him, Gabrielle and her family raced to catch up, laughing hysterically. Faintly he could hear Gabrielle's voice calling him back.

"Oh no," Harry yelled, still running full tilt, "You are _not_ dressing me up in any more outfits."

Gabrielle laughed, echoing through the Parisian streets. "At least come back so you can have a croissant!"

Harry shook his head, nearly tripping on a crack in the sidewalk. "Not hungry!" he called back.

Still chuckling, he turned the corner and immediately froze in shock. He observed what appeared to be hundreds of what appeared to be large obsidian insects in front of the Delacour mansion. Only after he saw the wands did he realize that they were humans wearing full body armor.

Their suits glinted in the bright midday sun, polished to perfection. Their insect-like heads were turned to look directly at Delacour Mansion, and as if by some invisible cue all raised their wands simultaneously. They paused for a second, deliberating. Then, they struck.

A torrent of bright blue bolts erupted from the glittering mass of soldiers, impacting on the Delacour's wards with loud sucking sounds. The Delacour wards glowed with power, but the massive onslaught was significantly stronger. The ground began to shake, disrupted by massive energy waves shooting from the Mansion. The soldiers just shrugged it off and continued their assault.

The Delacours rounded the corner along with the contingent of French Aurors, still laughing. As their eyes swept the scene before them, they too froze in shock. The Aurors paused for mere moments before snapping out of it. "GO!" The lead Auror shouted at them, waving them away. "We'll hold them off!"

The French Aurors crept up on the Britons, and begun firing lethal curses rapidly. One Brit soldier turned from his task and wandlessly severed the heads of all seven French Aurors, slicing through their shields like they weren't there. Once complete, the Briton turned back to his task, firing blasts of energy at the Mansion.

Watching the heads fall, Harry snapped. Furiously, he jumped forward and began blasting blades of immense power from his fingertips. Jets of orange light flew from his fingertips like an automatic sprinkler, randomly impacting upon the shiny armor of the Brits. Instead of having their guts ripped out, or their eyeballs liquefied, the Aurors merely shook their heads and rejoined the fight. Green curses rained down on Harry as he nimbly dodged the deadly lances of power. His mind raced. What could kill them?

His eyes blazed with a mad intensity as he ripped meter-thick pipes from the ground wandlessly, bowling over a few soldiers before being blasted to pieces. A large chunk of road was lifted and dropped on the enemies, crushing the skulls of three. They, at least, did not get up.

Harry smiled like a maniac. He raised his hands again, and ripped chunks of an abandoned building from the ground and began pelting the soldiers with the deadly chunks. Yet again, only a few died before the rest adapted.

Harry conjured a small army of vicious dogs, and compelled them to attack the enemy. While the dogs distracted the Aurors, Harry levitated the ruined sections of asphalt and plaster into a crude form of a Golem. He transfigured them so they melded together, and with cold fury in his heart he cried "_Animatis!_"

The crude, enormous figure opened it's bloodred eyes and immediately spotted the Aurors casually destroying the dogs. Emitting a massive roar, it swung its house-sized fist at the hoard, bowling a whole row over and snapping their necks. Harry quickly began improving his Animatis spell post-casting, and added complex adaptation runes. Forty-seven powerful blasting curses impacted on the Golem's head, smashing it to fist-sized shards. The Golem crumpled over, and the Aurors returned to attacking Harry.

The shards of the Golem's head began to rattle, at first unnoticed by the Aurors. They began flying together, reattaching themselves to the Golem's neck. Within seconds, the Golem had leaped to it's feet and began charging at the Aurors again. Again, blasting curses flew at it's head, but the shards detached themselves at the impact point, making the spellfire harmlessly pass through it's skull.

As the Golem's fist flew through the air again, the Aurors ripped chunks from the road, blocking the fists with massive shields of asphalt. The Golem immediately reciprocated by growing curved metal blades from it's fist, slicing through both the Aurors and their shields with apparent ease.

After another few deaths, the Aurors again adapted, jumping back from the deadly, glinting blades. After a few ineffectual swipes, the Golem opened its mouth and roared. With a wicked gleam in its glassy crimson eye it spat jets of molten magma at the Aurors, melting the armor and torching them from the inside of their exoskeletons. Pained shrieks rang through the air as the Aurors fell, burnt to a crisp.

Eventually, the Aurors again adapted, placing cooling charms on their armor. The Golem retaliated by launching spikes of ice from newly-formed Gatling guns attached to its forearms. Rows and rows of them fell to the icy spikes, which were super-cooled by their own charms. The Aurors rallied themselves, and began casting FiendFyre simultaneously, forming a ring around the Golem.

Howling in agony, the Golem tried to place cooling charms on itself, but failed under the intensity of the magical onslaught. Molten stone dripped from it's fists, glowing like the setting sun. Magical energy whipped around the Golem, lashing out at the fire to no avail. With one last pained cry, the Golem's dull red eyes closed for the last time.

Eyes screwed up with fury, Harry looked one last time at the army, who's numbers were significantly reduced. He saw that they swept aside the deaths of their comrades easily, with a cold, professional detachment. They immediately returned to their attempts at destroying the wards.

Harry, praying that Dumbledore had managed to escape the fortress, ran back to the Delacours, who had taken shelter behind a flipped car. He grabbed their hands and apparated away silently, leaving death and destruction in his wake.


	11. The Battle, Part II

**I don't own Harry Potter. Period. End of story.**

**AN:Review or the Brits will come knocking down your house.**

**Chapter Eleven: The Battle, Part II**

Albus Dumbledore stood inside the massive manor walls feeling, for the first time in forty years, afraid for his life. The ground rumbled beneath him, and he knew it would not be long at all before the Aurors would break through the incredibly powerful wards protecting him. He wanted so badly to leave, to apparate away, but could not leave Harry there unprotected. So here he stayed, watching the destruction on the CCTV cameras.

He observed, with no small amount of pride, that Harry was doing excellently in his fight. He saw the destruction waged by Harry's Golem, and faintly heard the pained cries of the soldiers as they were melted from the bottom up. He observed as the Golem fired round after round of ice into the ranks of the soldiers, until finally it could not fight any longer.

Dumbledore saw Harry grab the Delacours and apparate away. Albus smiled in relief. At long last he could leave. Paying no mind to the crumbling exterior wall, he grabbed a handful of floo powder, and tossed it in the fire.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Britain." He enunciated clearly, before stepping into the emerald flames just as the roof caved in.

* * *

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was an excellently protected castle, built for protecting students against Muggle witch-hunts. With a full set of extremely powerful wards, the Muggles of the time were unable to even get close to the fortress. Over time, each successive headmaster and headmistress has added to the fortresses defenses, increasing it's absolute might.

Interim Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had gone above and beyond with the upgrades to Hogwarts' security. She had crafted forty-nine magical turret cannons and placed them on the walls, protecting the school twenty-four hours a day. The cannons themselves were simple cannons, much similar to old Muggle Pirate cannons. However, there was one crucial difference; the cannonballs.

The cannonballs were not simple balls of lead like their Muggle counterparts. Each one was enchanted with shrinking and featherlight charms, and an undetectable expansion charm set to deactivate upon impact with the target. Why the expansion charm, you might ask. The reason is simple. Each cannonball was stuffed with twenty-five pounds of C4 explosives rigged to detonate upon impact, causing devastation when fired.

Despite these security upgrades, several attacks occurred. Three third-year girls had successfully fended off a strange, sandy-haired man who had held them at wandpoint. Not so lucky, another student had disappeared from the corridors. She had turned up, strung up 'round the neck -alive at the time- by her intestines. Headmistress McGonagall was almost ready to close the school when Bolt, the animated statue who roamed the halls at night, had dragged the mutilated body of Barty Crouch junior to her at breakfast.

Since then, the brutal attacks had completely stopped. No hint of danger, nor a speck of trouble inside the halls. Until the day Albus Dumbledore came tumbling out of the fire and into his study.

Running to the Great Hall, he called out to McGonagall. "Minerva! We've got to raise the emergency wards!"

Minerva turned around with shock on her face. "Albus? Aren't you in prison?"

Dumbledore looked at her slowly. "Obviously not, my dear lady. Otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"And what was that," she continued, "about emergency wards?"

Dumbledore looked at her, eyes wide. "We need to raise them. I'm expecting those mutants to come knocking at our doors any second!"

Minerva stared at him. "Albus, it takes hours to set those up!"

Dumbledore's face fell. "And we are both needed to set up the emergency wards, so the school will be undefended."

Three frantic knocks sounded from the door.

"Too late," Dumbledore said sadly, "They're here."

**Hogsmead Village, a few minutes prior**

Harry Potter whirled into view, clutching Gabrielle Delacour and her family to his chest. He quickly pulled them to their feet and began running full tilt towards the castle doors. Harry's wand flew into his hand, prepared for danger.

Streaming through the school gate, which was wide open, Harry sprinted up the winding path that lead to the majestic castle. He raised his fist and pounded frantically on the door. "Open up!" Harry yelled.

The door creaked open, Dumbledore's wrinkled face peeking out. "Harry?"

Harry impatiently pushed past him. "No time for that. I assume you saw those creatures?" Dumbledore nodded. "Did you see the Auror crest on their shoulders?"

Dumbledore gaped in shock. "Those-"

Harry nodded grimly. "Those are the British Aurors. Or what's left of them."

"My God. We're doomed." Dumbledore said with shock. "We can't even activate the emergency Protocol in time."

Harry shook his head. "How long do you need?"

Dumbledore sighed. "At least two hours."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Holy Mexican Tacos, Batman! I think I can do it. I'm gonna need help, though."

Fleur spoke up. "We Triwizard Combatants will help you, Harry."

Snape interjected, sneering slightly. "We teachers will assist as well. Lord knows _you_ will need it."

"Professor McGonagall and myself will be occupied getting the Emergency Protocols online again." Dumbledore concluded.

"Move out! Seventh years, get the younger students into the middle of the building!" Flitwick squeaked out, brandishing his wand.

"Snape, do you have any potions that cause decaying of flesh when touched?" Harry asked.

Snape looked surprised. "Yes, a large vat of botched Boil-reducing potion brewed by my First-years."

"That's convenient," Harry muttered, "Get it please."

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you need it for?"

Harry smirked evilly. "We're going to fill these," he held up a bag of water balloons that he had just conjured, "with the potion and lob them at the enemy."

Snape, impressed, whirled around and stalked to the dungeons. Harry returned his attention to the other teachers. "Do you have any extremely dangerous plants laying around, Professor Sprout?" he asked slyly.

Sprout glanced at him. "Do you have to ask?"

"Good. Set them up around the inside of the castle walls. Flitwick, can you conjure magical conduits leading to the student's location? I want them to help power the shields."

"On it." Flitwick squeaked grimly.

"Sinistra, set up an observation post from your classroom. I want to know when those Aurors arrive." Nodding, she raced up the corridor. "Where's Moody?"

Professor Trelawny averted her eyes. "He dissapeared. We're assuming he was Crouch's first victim."

Harry was confused, but nodded anyway. They didn't have time to explain trivial things. "Hagrid, can you rally the Acromantulae? Maybe the Centaurs too."

"I kin do tha', Harry." Hagrid said loudly.

Harry clapped twice. "Hop to it!"

* * *

For nearly an hour they waited for word from Sinistra, preparing defenses and weapons. Finally, word came that the obsidian creatures had appeared in Hogsmead. Immediately, they burst into action, retreating from the outer wall and convening in the Great Hall. "Alright now, on the count of three. One... Two... THREE!"

Slowly Harry and the teachers began to march in a circle, chanting. "Hoc sacrificio auxilium deorum petimus. Fatuus quidquid di defoedat percuties omne cruore innocentium. Rogamus autem genibus manibusque, non castellum intraveritis infestatione." Suddenly, they unsheathed silver daggers -which were hidden in their coats- and slashed their palms, drawing blood. Slowly, like a creeping turtle, the viscous red liquid inched towards the center of the circle, joining in a sickening puddle.

Blades of bright white light shot from the blood, flying outwards through the castle walls. Outside, a massive white dome was rising slowly from the ground. Energy funneled out to the shield from the beams, increasing the shield's power. Healing his hand, Harry pointed at the puddle. "Flitwick, lay the exit point of the conduit directly on the center of the puddle."

Just as Flitwick was waving his wand, a jet of green light narrowly missed Harry's head. Immediately, four cutting curses ripped through the shocked form of Draco Malfoy, his wand outstretched. With a gurgling sound, he toppled over into the puddle of blood. He raised his hand, and spoke the final word he ever would speak. "Father."

He closed his eyes, and smashed his head on the floor. Blood dripped from an open neck wound, mingling with the ritual blood. Shadows melted into his pale face, and drops of pink-tinged tears fell from his eyes. Before Harry's astonished eyes, the beams of light flying from the twisted blob grew in intensity, and darkened to a bright shade of gray. It seemed like an impossibility, but the gray light was brighter and more powerful than the pure light.

"Okay, that was weird." Harry said after a beat of silence. Outside, the white dome turned silver, glinting in the bright midday sun.

"PREPARE YOURSELVES!" Harry yelled loudly. "And may God have mercy on our souls."

* * *

Rows of black-suited Aurors marched up the winding lane to the ancient castle. Eight-hundred and sixteen automatons walked in rows of eight, perfectly straight. Helmets glinting, they casually waved through the gate, smashing it to pieces.

They marched, an army of beetles, wands at the ready. Their stride did not slow or falter. Beneath their onyx skeletal helmets, their eyes were cold and determined.

They split into rows, snaking just outside the reach of the silver dome. The lines connected, completely surrounding the dome. There, they waited.

A lone figure strode up the long, snakelike path purposefully. The man too was wearing the armor of the Aurors, however his was inlaid with purple and silver trim. He tapped his shining black walking stick on the ground, hand resting just below the perfectly carved statue of a snake's outstretched fangs.

The man walked smartly, aristocratically, and with an air of slight amusement. His face betrayed only the slightest upturning of his mouth, and his eyes shone with power and blood lust. He halted, meters from the circle. "Attack," the voice of Lucius Malfoy rang clearly through the dead-silent grounds.

At once, lances of bright light, flashing different colors, erupted from the circle. They smashed into the great silver shield, and with a great cracking sound the lances were deflected. Some flew harmlessly into the air, dissipating quietly. Others flew back into the crowd, smashing through hastily erected shields like a knife though butter.

The Aurors quickly stopped firing, and began constructing Golems. Rocks were levitated into place and melted onto the body. The Aurors shaped their molten rock into a near-perfect representation of a Giant. They immediately began casting as many protection charms that they could collectively think of, and animated them.

The Golems opened their eyes sleepily, and at the command of the Aurors they ran at the silver dome. One Golem raised it's massive fist and began hammering on the massive wall, shaking the ground beneath them. The sound was thunderous, as if a massive metal-worker was smashing his hammer against the hardest metal.

The shield showed no signs of yielding. The other Golems began to join in too, and the day was alight with thunderous sounds, almost godly sounds. But at the end of the day, magically enhanced metal is stronger than rock.

With a horrible grinding sound the Golem's fist began to crack. Flakes crumbled off the stone fist like a vampire's skin under the midday sun. Spiderweb cracks ran up the Golem's arm, threatening to widen. Still, the Golem hammered on.

With sound like thunder, the Golem's fist shattered completely. Massive chunks of stone fell onto the ground below, clattering loudly. Oblivious to the injury, the Golem began body-slamming the shield, to no avail. The spiderweb cracks quickly spread to the rest of it's body, and under one final, desperate impact it fell apart completely.

"WAIT!" cried Lucius, "These are blood wards!"

Immediately the Aurors changed tactics. They removed their gloves and conjured silver knives, and began slashing at their palms. Droplets of blood splashed on the silver shield, and where they did the shield sizzled. They poured gallons of blood on the shield, constantly casting blood-replenishing charms on themselves. Slowly, the blood began to eat away at the shield like an acid eating through a piece of cardboard.

The silver shield crumbled, vanishing before it hit the ground.

"Now," Lucius smirked, "We attack."

The Aurors gave a mighty cheer and stampeded towards the castle wall.


	12. The Battle, Part III

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Caution: all stunts done in this story are performed by fictional characters with magical powers. Unless you have superpowers and don't really exist, don't try this at home. I also did NOT plan for this whole thing to happen... It just came out.**

**Review, or I'll send the Cookie Monster after you. And he won't be looking for cookies.**

**The Battle, Part III**

Flashes of bright light erupted around the ancient, powerful castle. Jets of light, of all colors, reflected off the polished black armor of the invaders. Near the towering walls, a tentacled plant was brutally strangling an invader, wriggling around like a sea of snakes. Enchanted arrows, fired by the Centaurs, rained down on the crowd, glinting in the sun like armored birds soaring through the air. They fell upon the invaders, some piercing the glinting armor, others merely impacting deeply into the soft earth.

Small clumps of black-suited Aurors were gathered around the individual teachers. Flitwick was currently fighting off four, using every dirty trick in the book. Snape was sitting behind a crenelation, casually throwing dark curses into the fray. Sinastra had jerry-rigged a sniper wand, using an old telescope and liberal amounts of transfiguration. Sprout manned the cannons, firing concussive rounds at the unoccupied Aurors. Charity Burbage, who was rubbish at actual magic, had brought out a P-90 Submachine gun from her display of Muggle weaponry and was firing madly into the throng of darkness. Fleur had begun a partial transformation into her avian form, and was furiously launching fireballs at the Aurors who tried to climb the tall, worn walls. Krum and Cedric were assisting her, but their simple hexes and curses paled in comparison to the furiously burning balls of magic. Harry and Bolt were fighting back to back, decimating the horde of Aurors that had begun the assault.

Sinastra checked her glowing stopwatch in between shots, and performed a sonorous charm happily. "Only half an hour left!" she screamed happily.

Flitwick paused, fury etched upon his small face. "HALF AN HOUR? WE MIGHT AS WELL JUST GIVE UP NOW! WE CAN'T HOLD THEM OFF FOR HALF A FUCKING HOUR!"

Two shots fired from the sniper in response, killing half his opponents instantly.

Harry laughed as he sprung over two emerald killing curses, doing a back flip before landing neatly on the ground. "IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO?" he taunted, smirking. The Aurors did not respond, other than to send more curses at him. He casually dodged them, and charged at them furiously. "!" he screamed, lunging at them. The two Aurors he was attacking took an subconscious step back, to no avail. Harry flew at them, arms outstretched, and grabbed their heads in his clawed hands. Gathering power in his palms, he smashed them together and pushed the magic in between their skulls, creating a massively powerful explosion. He wandlessly shielded his hands, containing the blast and completely crushing the brains of the Aurors. He pushed out with his wrist, vaulting himself clear over their still falling bodies and landing on the other side with a neat little front-flip.

Charity Burbage was a maniac. She twisted and turned, firing shot after shot with deadly accuracy. SWISH. A bullethole sprung up on an Auror's helmet. SWISH. Another erupted from a breastplate. Blood poured from every hole, painting the scene in violent reds. Bodies littered the ground around her, obscuring the red-tinged grass. One Auror made a run for her, sword in hand. She began firing furiously at him, but the bullets simply fell to the ground without even making a dent in his armor. She closed her eyes and felt the aluminum blade slice clean through her neck.

Hundreds of Aurors still swarmed around the castle walls, careful to stay out of the sniper's range. At an invisible command, they started launching rocks at the wall foundations. The top of the wall began to shake, and the other Triwizard Combatants looked at each other nervously. The wall was not going to hold.

* * *

Lucius was standing at the back of the army, casually smirking. He watched as plumes of smoke covered the Hogwarts walls, kicked up by the deadly projectiles launched by the obsidian-tinted throng. He shielded his eyes as beams of scorching light roved over his forces, cutting through their near-indestructible armor with apparent ease.

Lucius snarled as he observed Potter crushing a specialized regiment as if they were no more than bugs under his feet. Curling his fist around his brand-new wand(which was crafted especially for him), thanking the gods that Voldemort had personally improved upon his already powerful core. With a cry of fury, he began firing spells at Harry, most going wide and hitting his Aurors.

Harry ducked as jets of immensely powerful magic flew an inch over his head. He turned to his new opponent, waving his hand - almost as an afterthought – at the other Aurors. They immediately clutched their necks and rose into the air as Lucius fired spell after spell at Harry.

"You have scorned me for the last time, Potter!" Lucius shouted triumphantly. "Soon, you shall be dead and I will rule Britain along with my son!"

Harry laughed as he easily batted away a lethal-looking purple curse with the back of his hand. "Your son is dead!"

Lucius' eyes went wide. "THAT'S NOT TRUE!" he screamed in anguish. "THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!" Collecting himself, he continued. "You lie, seeking to distract me."

Harry dodged a killing curse shot from Malfoy's bone-white wand, and raised his hand. "_Accio_ Draco Malfoy!"

Lucius' stomach lurched. He looked at the castle doors, deflecting a few curses from Harry, and nearly fainted when he saw the lifeless body of his son floating gently towards him. His eyes glazed over with madness, and begun launching spells at the body. "NO!" he cried, his eyes blazing with a cold numbness, "LIES!"

Lucius sank to his knees, still firing curses at the pale, bloody body of his only heir. His hand clenched the soft, wet dirt and tears fell down his chalk-white skin. He howled in pain and sorrow, knowing the truth. His face fell forward, mud staining his otherwise immaculate blond hair. Inside, his soul twisted in agony far worse than Voldemort's cruciatus.

"WHY?" he screamed into the bitter mud. "WHY DID YOU TAKE MY SON?" Lucius's voice cracked, and he once again descended into sorrow. Lucius' mind churned, burning in it's furious sadness. His thoughts once again focused on Potter, and he sprang up with passionate anger etched upon every line of his face.

"YOU!" he spat, glaring at Harry with eyes of hot steel. "You stole my SON!"

No amount of training could have prepared Harry for the onslaught that followed. He dodged, ducked, and weaved in-between hateful spells sent at him from the anguished lieutenant of Voldemort. Lucius pushed every ounce of fury and hate he felt through his wand, casting spells with no name. The jets of black that shot from his wand like the furious pounding of a galloping horse's hooves embodied the very emotion of hate and furious passion.

Hot, salty tears dropped from Lucius's face as his son's murderer escaped every spell that he sent. "STAND STILL!" Lucius shrieked, his voice high in unearthly power. The black lances were ungodly, radiating pain much like a Dementor.

Harry was struck by the pain in his voice. He didn't know Lucius had cared so much about his son. For an instant, Harry was remorseful. He hesitated. That small moment of indecision ended as the jet of shadows finally struck home.

Pain beyond pain filled Harry's being. The cruciatus had nothing on this. Eternity passed, and Harry begged for death. His limbs were on fire, the flames licking at his heart. Terrible, terrifying screams echoed in his mind. Hell had nothing on this torture. Dumbledore had once told him that love was his greatest quality. Love was ripped away from him, as he had so casually ripped away his enemy's only love.

Around him, the battle waged furiously. Neither man cared. Lucius had lost the only thing that meant anything to his twisted mind, and he no longer cared for anything. Not power, not life. Not anything. Anything but vengeance.

"NOW YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!" Lucius screamed madly. "ONLY NOW YOU CAN COMPREHEND WHAT YOU HAVE TAKEN FROM ME!"

Tears poured from Harry's eyes, as he mourned the empty feeling in his chest. His chest, which once felt full of light, had been emptied like a popped balloon. He knew that he deserved every bit of agony that Lucius had given him. No matter how evil Lucius was, he did not deserve to have his son's dead body paraded in front of him by his loathed enemy so casually.

Both men lay in the cold wet grass, wishing for death.

* * *

Dumbledore stood shakily in the bowels of the castle, pouring the last of his reserves into the ancient matrix. The stone obelisk began to glow and spin, signifying the raising of the emergency wards. He ran to the transmission station and tapped his wand on the panel. "RETREAT TO THE CASTLE!" his voice boomed over the loudspeaker. "The wards will bring us out of the normal space-time continuum in a few minutes."

Immediately, the defenders began to run back to the castle walls, firing curses over their shoulders randomly. Out of the corner of his eye, Cedric spotted Harry lying comatose on the ground. He quickly fired a levitation spell at Harry, pulling him towards the walls. Cedric dodged several curses, trying to concentrate on bringing Harry to safety. Fleur saw his predicament and ran to help, claws unsheathed.

Fireballs rained down on Cedric's attackers, making them turn towards the furious Veela. Obsidian tears dripped from the Aurors' hands as their armor was melted by the fury of the assault. They returned fire, ducking for cover behind fireproofed shields.

Harry floated closer to the castle, weaving through spellfire. Cedric grunted in exertion as he made Harry perform complex evasive maneuvers. He felt his grip on his wand loosening, and knew that he would lose hold of Harry within seconds. Doing the first thing he thought of, he screamed for help. Krum immediately ran to him, and seeing Cedric slump took control of his levitation spell. Krum, who was an expert in aerial combat, initiated a barrel roll. Flinging Harry high into the air, Krum dropped Cedric's spell and summoned his broom(taking a leaf from Harry's book). The Firebolt zoomed towards him and he climbed on, racing to Harry's rapidly falling body. Diving to catch Harry, Krum fired spells at the group of Aurors who thought to take advantage of Harry's incapacitation. With a muffled thump, Harry landed on Krum's broom. Viktor quickly raced back to the wall, still firing at the Aurors.

Lucius Malfoy raised his head from the mud, looking at his escaping quarry. He faintly smiled, before raising his wand to his head and whispering his last words.


	13. Infinite Regress

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

**AN: Review. Do it. Now.**

**Chapter Thirteen: Infinite Regress**

In the ICW chambers, chaos reigned. Britain had once again overstepped their bounds, declaring war on France. Temporary Supreme Mugwump Jonathan Archer – since Dumbledore was incapacitated – tried to bring the court to order, but the uproar did not fade.

"COWARDLY BRITS!" Aston Guilbert of Germany yelled loudly.

"FILTHY SCUM, SNEAK ATTACKERS!" James Lavern of the USA smashed his water glass on his desk, splashing water all over the reports.

"UGLY FUCKERS!" May Althouse of Austria screamed.

"SILENCE!" Archer's voice rumbled through the hall, silencing all protests. "Let us act like the civilized ambassadors we are."

Althouse snorted. "Britain is not civilized, John."

Jonathan's lip curled slightly in agreement, but banged his gavel. "Silence. Britain, you have the floor."

Dolores Umbridge, wearing her ridiculous pink cardigan, smiled widely and stepped up to the center of the massive semicircle. The floor, which had the ICW symbol embossed upon it, began levitating to a respectable height. "Fellow ambassadors, today we are convened in these hallowed halls to-"

Archer interrupted her. "Get to the point, Ambassador."

Dolores coughed, a pink tinge appearing on her bloated cheeks. "Of course, Supreme Mugwump." she said softly. Regaining some of her wits, she quickly returned to her speech. "Ambassadors, France was impeding an investigation of a highly dangerous criminal. A quadruple-homicide, I believe." Some of the ambassadors began murmuring amongst themselves, so much that Archer had to bang his gavel to reclaim their attention. "Thank you, Chief Warlock. France had granted him asylum, and refused to reply to our communications. We sent in Aurors to reclaim the convict-"

Once again Umbridge was interrupted. "Objection, Chief Warlock," Pierre Lavinie, French Ambassador, spoke loudly. "The criminal in question was merely a suspect, and not convicted of any crime."

"Sustained." Archer intoned gravely. "The court would thank you to keep to the facts. Continue."

Dolores ground her teeth before continuing. "We sent in Aurors, and the French destroyed half their numbers. Minister Fudge believed that was grounds for war, and immediately ordered the notification."

Pierre leaned in to Althouse. "That's not true. They declared war before they sent in their Aurors."

May Althouse whispered back. "Can you prove it?"

Pierre gritted his teeth. "No."

Umbridge grinned in triumph. The other ambassadors were looking at her with support gleaming in their self-righteous eyes. She knew instantly that she had won the battle. "I yield the floor."

Pierre stood and began speaking. "Chief Warlock, France requests permission to have the floor."

Archer now looked at Pierre in disgust. "Denied. France has broken the ICW treaty, and is expelled from the chambers. So mote it be." Archer banged his gavel, sealing the fate of the world. "Guards, escort him out."

Dolores just sat back, a wide smirk resting on her toad-like face.

* * *

Harry Potter lay in the Hospital wing, bathing in purple light from the window. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Every so often, a pneumatic hiss was heard and his cheeks would tinge red before returning to their sickly pallor.

Around his bedside stood his friends, emotions flickering across their faces like trees viewed from Harry's Firebolt. Dumbledore stood a ways back, his head bowed. Hermione was softly crying into Ron's shirt, and Gabrielle was clutching Harry's sheets tightly.

With a desperate expression upon her face, Gabrielle whirled around to face Dumbledore. "Will he be okay?" she asked, tears falling freely from her eyes.

Dumbledore shook his head. "We don't know what spell he was hit with. He could wake up in minutes, or he could never wake."

Gabrielle sobbed. "I don't want him to die," she cried softly. Hermione sobbed harder at that, and Ron wiped away a few stray tears.

"Neither do I, Gabrielle." Dumbledore spoke, looking every bit his age. "Neither do I."

Harry grunted, and they held their breaths. Slowly, he sat up, opening his eyes. "What happened?" he groaned.

Gabrielle began laughing in relief, while Hermione launched herself at Harry, burrowing her face into his shirt. "HARRY!" they screamed in unison. Harry looked at them. "We were so worried!"

He stared. "Something's wrong." he stated, panicking. Immediately, their faces fell into fear.

"What's wrong, dear boy?" Dumbledore asked worriedly.

Harry's face crunched into an expression of immense loss, the purple light throwing odd shadows on his face. "I feel... empty. Like something was taken from me."

Dumbledore's breath caught. "No..." he whispered in horror.

"I don't feel anything." Harry looked at Dumbledore in fear. "I can't feel my emotions."

Hermione looked at him with growing panic. "Harry? You don't feel anything when I hugged you?"

Harry shook his head. "No happiness, no friendship. Nothing that I used to feel."

Dumbledore fell to his knees. "This isn't happening. This can't be happening! It's not possible!" Anguish filled his voice, and his eyes had gone dull.

Ron looked horrified. "Nothing, mate?"

Harry nodded. "Nothing but emptiness. And hunger. I'm very hungry." he looked dispassionately at his sobbing friends, and his stomach growled. "Could one of you get me lunch?"

Dumbledore lay on the cold stone floor, muttering. "It can't be. Not possible. It's a dream, and I'm going to wake up in my quarters."

Harry regarded him without expression on his face. "This is no dream." he said pitilessly.

Dumbledore shook. "NO!" he jumped up, and begun pacing around. "It's not true. The Prophecy would prevent it." he paused. "NOOOO! I was wrong!"

Harry stared at Dumbledore with annoyance. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Dumbledore looked at him as if he had only just realized that he was not alone. "There was a prophecy made before you were born. It said that you were the only one who could vanquish Voldemort, and you would have a power he knows not. The power is Love, Harry, and you can't feel it anymore." he cried out in despair.

Harry paused for a second. "Well, that's bloody brilliant. Can I have my fucking sandwich now?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry. "What? I just told you that you can't beat Voldemort anymore and you ask for a sandwich?"

Harry growled. "I'm hungry!"

Dumbledore looked baffled. "But you hate Voldemort!"

Harry stared at him. "I used to hate Voldemort, when I could feel love. Now that I don't, I have no reason to hate him."

Dumbledore was flabbergasted. "Harry, he killed your parents!"

Harry shrugged. "Good for him. I'm guessing you aren't going to give me a sandwich."

"How could you say that?" Dumbledore asked, horrified.

"I can't care about my parents anymore because I can't love them." Harry explained, exasperated. "If you aren't gonna get me a lunch, I'll have to get it myself."

Swinging out of bed, Harry left his friends and mentor gaping behind him.

* * *

Bolt limped around the castle walls, staring at the otherworldly purple light surrounding the castle. His hind leg dragged behind him, leaking silvery fluid and leaving a trail across the battlements. The wolf gazed out at the fluctuating field of nothingness, and closed his eyes. Hogwarts was safe, but something was missing.

He wracked his brain, trying to think of what could possibly be wrong. His connection to Harry told him that he was alive, so that couldn't be it. With a grimace upon his visage, he turned away from the dimensional void. He licked his wounds, trying to magically close them, to no avail. The wound simply refused to close.

Bolt knew that he could not survive indefinitely with a gaping hole in his leg, and predicted that he would live for just a few days more. He curled up, whimpering softly, and fell asleep.

* * *

Voldemort was furious. The recruit tasked with alerting him of the news was on the ground in agony as Voldemort tortured him.

"Let Potter get away? I'll show them!" Voldemort screamed madly. "How dare they!"

The recruit whimpered. "Please, My Lord. Have mercy!"

Voldemort snapped out of his rage and released the curse. "Never let it be said that Lord Voldemort is not merciful." he said coldly.

The recruit smiled in relief. "Thank you, O Wise and Powerful Lord." He quickly scurried away before Voldemort could change his mind.

Voldemort sat down on his throne, shaking his head. "Why are my Death Eaters so incompetent."

Bella glanced at Voldemort in horror. "Have I disappointed you, Milord?"

Voldemort sighed. "No, Bella," he said patronizingly, "you have not displeased me. However, Lucius has. Summon him to me, Bella."

Bella smiled a wide smile. She loved it when Voldemort tortured that uppity moron. Pressing her wand to her Dark Mark, she called Lucius's name. Waiting a few seconds, she began to panic. "Milord! Lucius's mark is not responding!"

Voldemort's eyes went wide. "What?" he exclaimed. "That's impossible, unless-"

Bella looked at Voldemort in panic.

"He's dead!" Voldemort screamed in fury. "INCOMPETANT BASTARD!" Voldemort picked up a beautifully crafted vase with his tiny, childlike hands, and hurled it across the room at Bellatrix. Her face registered shock as the ceramic projectile slammed into her chest, shattering on impact. Shards of hardened clay pierced her chest, and her heart beat faster in fear. A particularly jagged piece slammed into her heart, and it tore itself to shreds on the deadly blade. Bella's mouth opened in shock, and she stared straight into Voldemort's cold red eyes. She breathed her last, the question 'Why?' on her lips as she fell onto the hard unforgiving floor.

Voldemort stared into her glazed eyes and let out a cry of fury.


	14. Change of Heart

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

**AN: I am aware that the Dumbledore quote only happened after Cedric died, but it was just too good to pass up the opportunity.**

**Review, again.**

**Chapter Fourteen: Change of Heart**

Harry strode down the abandoned halls of Hogwarts, heading to the kitchens to get himself the damn sandwich. His stomach growled loudly, shaking Harry's body slightly with it's intensity. Harry pondered his newfound freedoms without remorse.

"I can kill without the whole stupid emotional thing," Harry muttered to himself. "That's a plus. Also, I don't feel obligated to kill Voldemort anymore. Maybe Voldie is right... Love is just a weakness."

Content, Harry arrived at the kitchens and tickled the portrait to get in. Immediately, he was bombarded by small, squeaky house-elves asking him what he wanted to eat. He raised his eyebrows, and ordered a ham sandwich. Immediately, the house-elves ran to get it, and one particularly familiar house-elf greeted him.

"Dobby is so glad to see the greatest wizard in the world!" he squeaked, voice dripping with admiration. Harry nearly rolled his eyes, but for reasons unknown to him he refrained.

"It is acceptable to see you too, Dobby." Harry said. The house-elf's ears perked up.

"Master Harry, something is wrong?" the small green creature asked with worry.

Harry felt a flicker of annoyance. "No, Dobby. Everything is perfectly fine."

Dobby frowned, but nodded anyways. "If Harry Potter sir says so..."

At that moment, they were interrupted by another elf walking in with Harry's sandwich. After thanking the elf ("Servants do their best work when they're happy," Harry thought) Harry left with Dobby following quietly.

"If Dobby may ask," the elf started, "Why is Harry Potter Sir's aura strange?"

Harry stopped suddenly, making Dobby – who hadn't been expecting the stop – crash headfirst into a suit of armor. Harry whirled around to face Dobby. "How did you know that?"

Dobby toed the ground, looking dejected. "We elves have special sight. We see magic, sir."

Harry nodded and accepted the explanation. "It's because I was hit by a dark curse that makes me lose the ability to love." Dobby looked horrified, and Harry rushed to explain. "I actually prefer it this way. It makes my life so much easier."

Dumbledore's voice echoed in his mind, sending chills down Harry's back. "A choice between what is right and what is easy..." He pictured Dumbledore's twinkling eyes, and for a second he would have sworn he felt... ashamed.

Like a dandelion seed floating in the wind, the feeling was taken away as quickly as it came. Harry shook his head, and continued. "Even if I could go back, I wouldn't."

Dobby's eyes teared up. "But the Great Harry Potter's greatest thing is love," the excitable elf pleaded. But his begging was to no avail. Harry had closed his mind to the subject.

* * *

The ICW was again in an uproar. Britain had invaded Austria without provocation, and the Austrian Ambassador was pleading with the Confederation to send assistance.

"Fellow ambassadors, I beg of you, please." Ambassador Althouse pleaded from the center podium. "Please send assistance. Britain has already overrun our main defenses. Civilians are battling their forces in the street. They've cut off our food supply." Her eyes teared up, and she got down on her knees. "Please."

Archer glared furiously at Britain's representative. "Dismissed. Britain, explain yourself."

Umbridge stood up, an evil smile stretching her bloated face. She casually strode to the podium, and waited for it to rise. "Fellow Ambassadors, I have been sent by our great and wise minister to send a message." Pausing for a second, she waited until the angry murmurs subsided. "If you assist Austria in any way, Britain will destroy you."

Ambassador Lavern stood and exclaimed angrily his displeasure. "Supreme Mugwump, I object! She is threatening every member of this council!"

Poland's Ambassador, Luke Farrow, stood also. "I second the objection, and wish to add that Ambassador Umbridge has not explained Britain's actions."

Chief Warlock Archer nodded angrily. "Objection sustained. Ambassador, explain yourself."

Umbridge sneered. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Mudblood."

Gasps echoed around the chamber. Several ambassadors drew their wands in defense of their judge.

"Take that back, you foul sniveling bitch!" James Lavern yelled furiously, aiming his wand directly at Umbridge's head.

Archer did not seem to react to the vicious insult, and merely called for order. "Ambassador Umbridge, you are dismissed from these chambers. Should Britain wish to send someone competent, they are welcome to. However, if Britain will not either explain themselves or withdraw from Austria then this court will be forced to declare war upon them. So mote it be." Archer said gravely, banging his gavel. The yellow binding magic shot to the high, arched roof and disappeared. Two red-uniformed guards came and each grabbed one of Umbridge's arms. She did not struggle, but merely threw her head back and cackled as the ICW Guards dragged her through the great wooden doors.

"Good riddance," muttered Archer.

* * *

Dobby the House Elf wandered the halls, his large, floppy ears drooping. He kicked a pebble viciously, watching it scuttle ahead like a startled cockroach. He walked along the long bridge connecting the castle with the battlements, and watched the pebble hurtling down to the soft grass below. Dobby's heart longed to follow the pebble to it's doom, but Dobby refused to harm himself. It had been his Master Harry's final command, before this horror had been inflicted upon him.

Dobby stared at the silver-stained cobblestone in confusion. He sensed that the magic on the liquid was from Harry, but he knew that was impossible. The silvery substance was vaguely reminiscent of blood, and as far as Dobby knew, no human had silver blood running through their veins.

Dobby rushed to follow the trail of blood, becoming more and more puzzled when he saw flakes of onyx stone surrounding the odd blood. He abruptly stopped as he saw Bolt curled up on the battlements, his leg still gushing the silver substance. Dobby's eyes traveled the injured wolf's form, his eyes growing wider as he recognized the emerald eyes of his master.

"Master Harry Potter sir!" Dobby cried joyously. Bolt tried to stand upright, but collapsed under the strain.

"_**Peace, Dobby. I am not our master.**_" Bolt said amusedly.

Dobby looked confused. "Then what are you?"

Bolt shook his head, and flakes of stone rained down from his peeling scalp. "_**It will take too long to explain, young one.**_"

"Master Harry is ill." Dobby confided tearfully. Bolt once again attempted to stand, only succeeding in damaging his leg further.

"_**How is he ill?**_"

Dobby's large eyes glistened with tears, and he looked down at the wolf sadly. "Master Harry cannot feel love."

Bolt furrowed his brow, cracking his outer shell further and revealing a glowing interior. Soft pulses of green light gently flowed from Bolt's head wound, but he paid it no mind. "_**With your permission, I will look into your mind to know the entire truth.**_"

Dobby nodded once, and Bolt dived in. Within seconds, Bolt coughed weakly. "_**I can help him, but only she can truly connect.**_" Bolt said mysteriously.

Dobby's eyes lit up immediately. "What can lowly Dobby do to help great Master?"

Bolt smiled faintly. **"**_**It is simple, Dobby. I will rip out my soul.**_**"**

Dobby shook his head like a frightened child. "Why?"

"_**Because it is the only way to save Harry!**_" Bolt thundered. "_**Once my soul is out of my body, I will have only seconds to finish my job. It is your job, Dobby, to make Harry drink the essence that shall be created.**_"

Dobby looked at Bolt's emerald eyes, full of passion. "It will be done."

Bolt closed his eyes tightly, and began muttering a complex series of Latin words. The words themselves were innocent, but together they created a beautiful masterpiece of darkness. The green glow from beneath Bolt's skin began to fade, pulsing slower and slower, with less intensity with every passing second. Finally, when the glow was like the embers of a dead fire, Bolt stopped. A silvery ball flew out of his mouth, emitting bell-like tones. With his final breath, he uttered his last spell. "_**S**__**igillum Anima.**_"

From his maw, a weak beam of golden light shot at the hovering ball of light. Surrounding it, the ball contracted until it was nothing more than a speck of dust. Dobby could feel the immense magical power radiating from the ball, and stepped back. A silver vial materialized beneath the ball just in time for a torrent of silvery liquid to fall.

Dobby caught the vial before it had the chance to fall, and quickly corked it. Crying softly for the loss of his master's other servant, Dobby quickly popped away leaving the stony body of the valiant wolf who had given it's life to save Harry's.

* * *

Harry was wandering the halls, much like Dobby, staring at the paintings in curiosity. "How do you move?" he asked, enraptured. A picture of a lady wearing a blue dress blushed. Her silver hair was dimly illuminated from the small opening in her prison. Bars lined the back of the painting, locking her into the room for eternity. There was no door. A rusty red coated the edges of the welded metal, looking horrifyingly like blood.

"Well," the lady began, "there's a spell to animate things, you know."

Harry raised an eyebrow, very Spock-like. "Fascinating. I am much aware of that particular spell."

"The human version of me," her voice was layered with disgust at her counterpart, "had to animate the portrait and give it her personality. And here I am," she waved her arm bitterly at the gray cell around her, "locked in here for eternity. I will never die. I don't have that privilege." the lady said, a stray tear dripping down her face.

Harry observed her coolly. "Death is not a privilege," Harry scoffed. "Death must be conquered."

The woman looked at him in shock. "Would you want to live in a cell for eternity, only conversing with the stray student every once in a while?"

Harry glared at her. "I would not have been captured in the first place."

The lady's eyes filled with tears. She fell out of sight of the portrait, and her sobs clearly floated from the carved wood and paint. Harry felt a glimmer of remorse, but it was quickly squashed.

He casually strolled past the distraught woman, taking a loud bite of his sandwich. He smirked without emotion, his emerald eyes glassy and dull.

Harry whirled around at the sound of Elfin apparation. There stood Dobby with a silver vial in his hands. He was so surprised at Dobby's appearance that he missed the look of sly cunning on the elf's childlike face.

Dobby smiled at Harry, schooling his expression into one of adoration. Inside, his guts were churning at the monster that his master had turned into. He quickly reassured himself that it would all soon be over. "Master Harry, Dobby heard that good sir Harry Potter wants to never die!" he squeaked in his most convincing adoring voice.

Harry nodded cautiously. "That's right, elf. Why?" he asked with mistrust layered in his voice.

Dobby jumped up and down, internally vomiting at the way Harry addressed him. "Master Harry, headmaster Dumbly has secret immortal juice in his office! Dobby has stolen it for good Master!"

Harry's eyes lit with greed, frightening Dobby with a gleam of red. "The Elixir of Life," he whispered reverently.

Dobby nodded furiously, not knowing what the Elixir was. "Yes, Master Harry!"

Harry held out his hand furiously. "Give it to me, elf!"

Dobby wagged his finger, trying to make it convincing. "Master Harry must promise to try to love."

Harry rolled his eyes internally. He would break that promise in seconds. "Of course, Dobby." he said charmingly.

Dobby smiled at his sudden change in attitude. He slowly handed Harry the vial, praying to the Elf gods that this would work. Harry held the vial up to the light, a maniacal grin alighting his face. Without another moment's consideration, he uncorked it and drank swiftly.

Immediately his eyes grew in horror. "What have you done, elf!" he cried, lunging at Dobby clutching his stomach.

Dobby disapparated, reappearing directly behind Harry. Harry lay on the ground convulsing, and a black tar-like substance oozed from his scar. An unearthly scream ripped free from Harry's jaw, warbling and crackling in pain. He thrashed around on the stone floor, a ghostly light flying from his open jaw. The light grew in intensity, making his eyelids glow a bright silver. Pulses ripped through the castle, cracking the stone and warping the paintings.

In the hospital wing, Dumbledore shot straight up from the floor. He recognized that magical signature, and he began smiling. "Harry's back!" he cried joyously. "Harry is cured!"

In the hall, Harry opened his eyes to a creepy sight. Dobby was standing over him, poking him with a stick. "What are you doing, Dobby?" he asked amusedly.

Dobby's eyes filled with tears. "Great Harry Potter sir is alright!"


	15. Shockwave

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**AN: Review. Now.**

**Chapter Fifteen: Shockwave**

Lord Voldemort sat in his throne room, twirling his unnaturally white wand between his long pale fingers. He listened with increasing happiness to a report given by a black-robed recruit. The recruit shuddered in fear as Voldemort flashed him a pale smile.

"Dismissed, Recruit." he casually waved the shaking Death Eater out of the room. The servant bowed deeply and scurried quickly from the room.

"Milord," Avery began hesitantly, "how can you be sure that Crouch completed his mission?"

Voldemort grinned a cruel smile, promising death and destruction. "Come now, Avery. You know that a magician never reveals his tricks."

Avery looked at Voldemort in confusion. "My Lord-"

Voldemort glared. "Shut up, you incompetent fool. It was a joke."

Avery, who was not aware Voldemort ever joked, wisely stood silent.

"I believe," Voldemort said slowly, "I will be leading this assault."

Avery immediately protested. "But, My Lord! You are not strong enough!"

Voldemort's scarlet eyes glowed with fury, looking out of place on his pale childlike face. "Are you questioning me?"

Avery fell to his knees. "No, of course not Milord!"

His pleading was futile. Voldemort raised his wand and screamed the word that Avery most dreaded. "_CRUCIO!_" Voldemort shouted, a maniacal gleam in his bright red eyes.

Avery felt as if he was under for hours. He tried to repeat things he knew – such as his name - to keep his sanity, but he found that within seconds he could not remember. All he knew was the blades of hot needles were poking into his skin, burning him with a slow, torturous efficiency. He shook, trying to dislodge the blades, but it was to no avail. The blades didn't really exist. That was only his mind trying to make sense of the agony he was enduring.

After a mind-numbing eternity, the pain disappeared. Voldemort laughed cruelly. "I will be strong enough, Avery. Your death will make me strong."

With those words, the door to his chambers locked. For the rest of the night, all the Death Eaters heard were the tortured, insane screams of the loyal Inner Circle member.

* * *

Since his illness, Harry had been training even harder with Dumbledore. Often during the week following his recovery small explosions could be heard from the classes, which had resumed three days following the erection of the emergency wards.

Today was the day that Harry had been waiting for. Dumbledore had told him that today they would start his Animagus Training.

Dumbledore wheeled into the classroom cheerfully, carrying a small glass vial filled with bubbling liquid. "This here," Dumbledore said with a grin, "is the Animagus Potion."

Harry stared. "It's as easy as taking a potion?"

Dumbledore laughed happily. "No, no dear boy. Not nearly that easy for most of us. However I was very good at potions in my school time, and my mentor _was_ Nicholas Flamel."

Harry stared in shock.

"Harry, no need for that expression." Dumbledore chided. He handed Harry the bottle. "Drink up!"

Harry looked at the bottle cautiously, and drank. Immediately he began to cough, smoke pouring out of his mouth and nose. His skin started to darken and harden, turning scaly and shiny. He felt his bones grind together in odd ways never meant for humans. His leg bent the wrong way, and Harry screamed in agony.

Dumbledore stood, unsettled at the painful transformation. "I'm sorry, but if I had warned you I doubt you would have taken the potion."

Harry glared at him with hate-filled eyes. "When I finish transforming I'll-"

But what exactly he would do to Dumbledore he never finished, as his jawbone began to elongate, preventing speech. His teeth sharpened, and grew to long curved scythes. His face pinched together, his nose melding to his top jawbone. His fingers shrunk and his fingernails stretched, reinforced, and sharpened themselves. His hipbone suddenly twisted, forcing him down on all fours. His tail-bone stretched out, and pierced his rock-hard skin. His spine detached from his skull with a sickening pop, writhing snakelike up to the back of his head. Finally, with a horrifying shredding sound, his rock-hard skin grew thick, bushy fur.

Harry's mind exploded with information. Networks of runes stretched beyond the horizon, whirling around at unbelievable speed. Pulsing blue lines flickered between them, switching connections at a whim. Flickers of magical fire filtered through the web of knowledge, illuminating the green marble floating in Harry's mind's eye.

Bright lights connected the green ball to the massive network, pulsing slowly while sending beads of energy back and forth. For an instant, Harry saw himself standing on the lip of a blazing volcano, but in another moment the image vanished. Pictures flashed before Harry's eyes, some familiar, some not. He saw himself, older, with an arm wrapped around Gabrielle. She was smiling, her brilliant silvery locks glinting in the camera flash. He saw himself as a small child, being bullied by his cousin. He saw Dumbledore standing over the smoking, charred remains of Hogwarts. With a scream of horror, Harry opened his eyes.

Standing before him was Albus Dumbledore, staring at him with a curious look. Harry tried to open his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Somehow, Dumbledore understood his question anyway.

"Harry," he began with a shaky voice, "Look at yourself."

Dumbledore waved his hand, conjuring a mirror which hung itself on the wall. Cautiously, Harry took a step towards the reflective surface. He took another, then another, until he was in full view. He slowly turned his head to the mirror, and looked straight into the eyes of Bolt.

* * *

Supreme Mugwump Jonathan Archer of the International Confederation of Wizards sat in his private chambers, deep in thought. The events that had transpired were very unsettling. Britain had never gone this far before, not even in the olden days where Britain was the superpower of the world. He was not happy about the obvious disregard Britain had of the ICW. He boiled it down to two choices; either Britain was lead by incompetent fools, or their military was much stronger than anyone had guessed.

His thoughts were interrupted as a red-robed guard alerted him that he was needed in the council room. He quickly stood, walking brusquely through the door to the Judge's podium.

"All rise!" the guard spoke loudly, saluting. In unison the Ambassadors stood noisily. He sat and waved at them to do the same before speaking.

"Ambassadors, we have convened here to discuss what is to be done about Britain's obvious insubordi-" Archer was cut off by the main view screen activating with a buzz.

On the screen was May Althouse, the Austrian Ambassador, her hair in disarray and dirty smudges covering her face. Her breathing was heavy, as if she had just ran a marathon. Her eyes were wild, darting around the room like a madwoman.

"Please," she whispered, and Jonathan was shocked at the sheer terror in her voice, "Please help us." She turned her head, looking back at something unknown to the Council members. "We don't have much time," she said, turning her head back to the screen. The view was shaking, and they could see her hands were gripping the panel tight enough to warp the near-indestructible steel plate. "They've taken the government." Her voice cracked, and she started sobbing.

The council was silent, enraptured and horrified. They watched as she shook violently, crying. "Please. They'll kill us all."

A splintering sound was heard on her end, and a massive plume of dust blasted from the background. Althouse's eyes were wide, and for a split second the horror in her eyes was plainly visible. Then a silver blade pierced her back, jutting unnaturally from her chest. Blood streaked the blade, and Althouse's eyes dulled.

The blade pulled itself from her back, sinking back through her heart. She swayed for mere seconds, and fell to the ground in a puddle of her own blood. What lay behind her nearly stopped the Council's hearts.

Four obsidian-plated creatures, vaguely human, stood behind her rapidly cooling body. Their scales were splattered with blood, and they held themselves with the gait of a predator. Their fingers ended in curved blades, and their mouths were sealed shut. The creatures slowly prowled around the room, and one stopped to investigate the communication panel. With casual ease, it shattered the two-way steel plate into thousands of tiny pieces. The council's vision was fractured, and they vaguely saw the dark figures going through the room. In seconds the creatures were done, and the room was engulfed in white-hot flames.

With a shaky voice, Archer asked the technician to replay the video. The techie paused the frame where the creatures were visible. At Archer's prompting, he zoomed into the emblem embossed on the creature's chest. There, in horrifyingly accurate crystal clarity, was the Ministerial Seal of Magical Britain.

* * *

Lord Voldemort was not sitting idle. During the week that Harry had been training, Voldemort had likewise been upgrading his body. The initial sacrifice of Avery was used in a dark ritual to regain him a powerful, respectable body. Countless others had been murdered in brutal ways to improve the body to his idea of perfection. Apparently, not even forty-seven of the most powerful dark Enhancement rituals were enough for the Dark Lord, as he even hired a Muggle surgeon (secretly, of course) to mechanically alter his features.

Doctor Basher, the black-market surgeon, was currently implanting tiny slivers of Voldemort's old wand into his finger bones. Doctor Basher knew his patient would not survive without a miracle, since he had to remove Voldemort's bone marrow to fit the tiny shards of wood into the bone. He simply shook his head at Voldemort's (perceived) idiocy and kept working. As long as he got paid, right?

Several hours later, Voldemort awoke with agony in his fingers. He glanced down at them to find they were bandaged. He scoffed, as much as one can scoff when your fingers have been cut in half, and immediately ordered his Death Eater guard to use a healing spell on his hand. He smiled in satisfaction as the Doctor's eyes grew wide, seeing Voldemort's skin literally knit itself back together.

"_Stupefy_," Voldemort incanted lazily. A beam of red shot from his fingertip, striking the poor doctor in the chest. Voldemort inspected his hand, holding the flawless pale skin up to the light, and grinned evilly.

"Get me Rabastien." Voldemort demanded, pointing at the Death Eater.

"At once, Milord."

Voldemort swung his cloak around his shoulders, fastening the silver buttons with ease despite his still-aching fingers. He sprung up from the granite block in his throne room, and walked to his window. He watched silently as Lucius' idiotic peacocks strutted in the Manor grounds, mentally making a note to use them as target practice. He heard the wooden door open near-silently, and the light footsteps of Rabastien Lestrange as he walked into Voldemort's presence.

"Greetings, Rabastien," Voldemort said amicably. Rabastien looked intrigued.

"Milord."

Voldemort turned from the circular window to see Rabastien fall into a deep bow. Voldemort's face flickered with soft annoyance before he spoke. "Rise, Rabastien. I have a task for you."

Rabastien's eyes widened theatrically. "Milord?"

Voldemort's eyes glowed with fury again. "Are you going to say nothing else, Rabastien? Or are you going to drop this charade."

Rabastien glared at the Dark Lord, showing his anger. "You killed my wife."

"Yes." Voldemort said simply, without regret. "It is regretful," he said coolly, "that such a loyal servant has been lost. However, we must make do with the likes of you."

Rabastien's face twisted into a mask of fury. "You speak of her murder so casually."

A wicked smile once again lit up Voldemort's visage. "It was nothing less than she deserved."

Rabastien, finally broken, raised his wand at his lord. "_Avada Kedavra_!" he shouted, fury dripping in every syllable. Voldemort merely raised his hand and, to Rabastien's astonishment and fury, caught the green light in his hand.

"There is one thing I hate more than Potter," Voldemort began, "Do you know what it is, Rabastien?" At Rabastien's nod, he continued. "Traitors."

With cold amusement on his face, Voldemort flung Rabastien's own spell back at the traitorous Death Eater. The man's eyes barely had time to widen before his dead body dropped to the floor.

Voldemort's cruel laugh illuminated the chambers once more.

* * *

Dumbledore sat in his office, listening to Minerva's report of what had transpired during his absence. By his frown, even one who had no clue of the tragedies that had occurred would have been able to guess the horror of that conversation.

"Crouch was impersonating Moody," McGonagall was saying sadly, "We still haven't found Alastor's body."

Dumbledore was looking at Minerva intently. "What did Crouch do?"

At that, Minerva broke down crying. "Oh Albus," she said, sobbing onto his desk, "He attacked four students." His eyes were locked on her face, searching her eyes. "Only three survived."

Dumbledore's face fell in shock. "A- a fatality? At...Hogwarts?"

Minerva nodded. "Afraid so, Albus. It was particularly violent. Strung up by her intestines, while alive."

Dumbledore's face rose in horror. "No..." he whispered.

"Blood all over the place," Minerva continued, sniffling a bit. "I informed the parents a few days ago."

Dumbledore stood abruptly. "EVACUATE THE CASTLE!" he screamed in a panic.

Minerva looked at him sadly. "It's alright, Albus. Crouch is dead."

Dumbledore looked at her with wide eyes. "You don't understand. That sounds similar to a dark Connection ritual."

Minerva stared, confused. "What in the hell is that supposed to mean, Albus?"

He stared at her fearfully. "Voldemort knows where we are, Minerva. He knows."

Far, far away, an evil cackle echoed over the forest by Malfoy Manor.

**AN 2: The next chapter might take a few days.**


	16. All Good Things

**I don't own Harry Potter**

**AN: I had a guy comment on how it was odd that Gabrielle is teasing (the reviewer called it smugness) her 'savior'. One, Harry didn't save her, Bolt did. Two, she's fairly intelligent and can probably deduce that Harry doesn't like people who mindlessly idolize him.**

**Review. Now. Do it.  
**

**Chapter Sixteen: All Good Things...**

Albus Dumbledore stood at the gates of Hogwarts flanked by Harry, McGonagall, and Flitwick, all with their wands raised. Albus cursed as he fended off yet another lethal green jet fired from a rookie Death Eater, making the deadly spell ricochet off his easily raised silver mirror. The Death Eaters were standing in tight groups, an idiot mistake that Harry was only too happy to take advantage of. He dropped rocks on them, heated the ground under them, crushed them with a shrinking bubble spell, transfigured the outside rings' arms and legs together and set the inside on fire. The list goes on and on.

McGonagall was similarly gleeful, vanishing the ground under the Death Eaters and trapping them in the holes. She conjured a giant buzz-saw to cut one group to ribbons, then transfigured it into a deadly cobra, which Harry directed at another group.

Flitwick was not faring as well. His area of expertise was one-on-one duels, which this was obviously not. He, however, was not doing too badly. He had charmed the sharp rocks surrounding the Death Eaters to home in on their life-signs. The only problem with this plan is that the rocks occasionally glitched and overshot, nearly decapitating McGonagall.

Dumbledore was doing excellently, but for his unwillingness to kill. A large pile of comatose and bound Death Eaters lay at his feet, ready to be revived by him and only him. Little did he know that Flitwick had secretly charmed a rock to embed itself in every comatose Death Eater near Dumbledore, insuring the murderers would never kill again.

Soon the entire force of fifty-seven Death Eaters were dead, various substances dripping from holes in their bodies.

Dumbledore brushed his hands together. "That was easier than I thought it would be. Now, let's revive one of these prisoners so we can figure out what the hell is going on."

Flitwick looked at Albus guiltily. "Sorry, Albus. I've been killing all your hostages when you weren't looking."

Dumbledore looked at the pile of bodies in shock. "What?" he croaked.

Harry looked at Dumbledore with a frown on his face. "Professor, you know you'll have to kill sometime in this war."

Dumbledore sighed and nodded. "I suppose."

Turning their backs, they began to walk back to the castle. Harry suddenly paused, cocking his head. He turned back to investigate and blanched in horror. "Professors," he started, "we may have a problem."

The others turned, and they too looked in shock at the pale body of Lord Voldemort, grinning at them with arms slightly raised. His shining fingers curled in a casual pose, and he spoke softly. Even though his voice was soft, they heard every word as clearly as if he was shrieking in his high, cruel voice. "Greetings, Albus," he said, eyebrows raised. "Harry, so nice to see you."

Dumbledore, who stood nearly unphased, merely inclining his head. "Tom."

Voldemort's eyes flashed with rage, but he quickly controlled himself. "That name holds no meaning to me, Albus."

Dumbledore smiled serenely. He casually stepped forward, shifting slightly to shield Harry and the others. "It's me you want, Tom," he said, raising his empty hands slightly. "Let the students go."

Voldemort smiled nastily. "We both know that isn't true."

Dumbledore looked sad for a moment. "It doesn't have to be this way," he pleaded, lowering his arms slightly.

Voldemort glared at him. "Is this the part where you tell me about your ridiculous second chances? People don't change. I don't even want to change."

Dumbledore looked at him sadly. "I disagree. But that is why we stand on opposite sides of the battlefield, is it not."

Harry, seeing Voldemort was distracted, fired a curse under Dumbledore's arm. Voldemort merely laughed and batted the curse away with his bare hand.

"Has Dumbledore taught you nothing, boy?" Voldemort taunted. "You'll need much more than a simple bone-breaker to defeat the greatest Dark Lord in all of history."

Dumbledore had drawn his wand, and readied himself. "Harry, you are not yet ready." he said softly.

Voldemort laughed cruelly. "No one is, Albus."

Dumbledore smiled and laughed slightly, as if Voldemort had told an amusing joke. "Shall we get on with it, Tom?"

"First we must observe the niceties. _Bow_." he said, voice laced with compulsion.

Dumbledore inclined his head, while Voldemort did the same. At once, they sprung into motion. Blue lightning flashed from Voldemort's fingers, impacting where the headmaster had been seconds prior. Dumbledore appeared behind Voldemort, but the Dark Lord was expecting that and conjured a brick wall behind him just in time for Dumbledore's Coma curse to impact upon the shield. Vanishing the rubble, Voldemort began assaulting Dumbledore with killing curse after killing curse. Dumbledore conjured clear shield after clear shield, blocking every curse before they came within five meters of him. Voldemort growled, furious.

"This is a Muggle invention, called Plexiglass." Dumbledore casually commented as Voldemort grew more and more frustrated. His face grew with fury as every single curse was blocked by this Muggle substance.

Finally, Voldemort had enough. "_Incindio Maxima_!" he cried, and a massive fireball launched from his hand. Dumbledore yet again conjured a plexiglass dome, and the fireball impacted harmlessly on it's side. Quickly, before it could dissipate, Voldemort fired another spell. "Crearecaeli!" he screamed, cackling madly. A massive gust of wind fired from his wand and the fireball grew to massive proportions. Quickly, before Dumbledore could escape, Voldemort cast his own Anti-apparation ward.

Voldemort did not expect to be summoned into his own fire from behind. Harry quickly cast a bubble charm, sealing the fire, the air, and Voldemort in a tiny space. The fire flared up for mere seconds before dying completely, leaving Voldemort completely unharmed. He quickly apparated out of the bubble, smirking casually.

"You didn't really believe that I would be burnt to death, did you?" Voldemort laughed amusedly. "Wizardkind has been escaping that predicament for a thousand years."

Harry gritted his teeth, firing minor hexes and curses at Voldemort, trying to catch him off-guard. Voldemort didn't even lift a finger, deflecting the curses with his thought alone. "You'll have to do better than that, Harry." he taunted in a childish voice.

Harry's emerald eyes stared into Voldemort's mocking, red orbs and his fury peaked. "_AVADA KEDAVRA_!" he screamed, firing the one curse that he most loathed. Voldemort grinned in maniacal glee, and reciprocated. Their twin green jets connected, and Harry heard the faint, uplifting strains of Phoenix song. Within seconds, the bead of light where their curses connected started pushing towards him. With every inch, he shuddered. It was as if the bead was a Dementor; the closer it got, the worse Harry felt.

Every nerve ending in his body was screaming. It was as if he had stayed out in the winter cold too long, and was only now feeling the icy fire coating his skin. With every fiber of his being Harry fought the bead's advance, but no matter how hard he concentrated, the bead would not slow. Within seconds, the bead was inches from his wand tip.

_This is the end,_ Harry thought, fighting despair. _I'm going to die._

Harry watched the triumphant look on Voldemort's face, and thought of the students in the castle. _They're going to die too. Everyone is going to die because of me._

Harry thought of the people in the castle whom he had doomed to Voldemort's wrath. _Fred, George, Alicia, Katie, Angelina, _everyone. With every name, his stomach bubbled with guilt. _Ron, Hermione, Gabrielle._ At their names, his chest exploded with searing flames.

"If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is Love." Dumbledore's voice echoed in his ear. With seconds left, Harry closed his eyes. _I'll see my parents again._

At that thought, the fire changed. No longer was it razing him, but warming him. Harry opened his eyes. The bead had stopped.

Voldemort's eyes were wide with shock. Harry glared at him, opening his mouth to scream. "YOU WON'T WIN!" Harry screamed, hair whipping around from an invisible wind.

Voldemort screamed in anger, trying to push the bead towards Harry. It was no use. The bead was locked in place.

Harry once again closed his eyes, thinking of his friends. _Ron! _He thought, remembering the happy times sneaking around under his cloak, of the chess battles he always lost. The bead moved slowly, pushing towards Voldemort.

_Hermione!_ He remembered the lectures, the laughs, the time where she punched Malfoy, and most of all he remembered the three of them, laughing. The bead sped up, growing in power.

Voldemort was afraid. He pushed with every last drop of his power, and yet the bead still advanced. His hands began to shake, and he felt his bones grow hot.

_Gabrielle!_ Harry thought of her smile, the way she secretly stared when he wasn't looking, of the day in France with her family, of her happy wild eyes when she was rescued from the cold lake. He thought of waking up in the hospital to her sarcastic comments, which amused him to no end. The bead pushed further, spinning and pulsing with intensity.

_Sirius._ He thought of his Godfather, living off rats to be near him. He thought of his connection to his parents, and the amusing comments that Sirius liked to hand out like golden star stickers in a preschool classroom. He thought of his Godfather's haunted eyes, which lit up when he saw Harry.

With a cry, Harry opened his eyes and stared intensely into Voldemort's. "Not this time," he said softly. Listening to the uplifting tune, his beam grew to massive proportions. The green slowly transitioned to gold, gathering energy. "FOR FRIENDSHIP!" he bellowed. "FAMILY!" he breathed deeply. "For Love."

At that, the beam exploded outwards. Shards of crystallized green shattered, firing shrapnel in all directions. Voldemort barely had time to scream before the golden beam slammed into his brittle fingers. Much like his curse, the wand core inside his finger-bones shattered outward, ripping Voldemort's hands to bloody shreds.

Voldemort looked at his hands, horrified. With an expression of agony twisted on his visage, he apparated away, leaving nothing but bone shards, flesh, and blood behind.

Harry's face broke into a wide smile. Raising his hands over his head, he started chanting a victory chant. "Ha! Did you all see that? I kicked his pasty white-" Harry stopped dead. McGonagall and Flitwick were standing over the prone body of his mentor.

Running over to his side, he was relieved to see Dumbledore was still breathing. Albus turned his head weakly, staring into Harry's concerned eyes. "Harry," he wheezed, "Remember..."

Dumbledore's breathing hitched, and he paused. Harry looked at him worriedly. "Stay with me, Professor."

With an intense look, Dumbledore looked Harry in the eye, searching his soul. "Call me Albus."

"Stay with me!" Harry sobbed, seeing Dumbledore slipping away.

Albus wavered, staring into the bright blue sky. He pulled his wand, pointing it at Harry. "My last gift to you, Harry." he said, tears rolling down the end of his crooked nose. "_O__mnes._"

A weak yellow light flashed from the tip of his wand, and a white mist circled Harry like a snake. With a ragged breath, Dumbledore gripped Harry's hand tightly. "Stay gold..."

Harry laughed through his choked sobs. He nodded furiously, holding Dumbledore's hand in a vice-like grip, as if he could physically tether Dumbledore to life. Dumbledore's hand fell limp. His eyes glazed over, and his torturous breathing ceased to be.

Albus Dumbledore, greatest Headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen, closed his eyes for the final time and passed on to the Next Great Adventure.


	17. The Inner Light

**I don't own Harry Potter. Probably never will, unless Voldemort goes on a killing spree and murders all government officials so I can sneak in and sign over the rights to me... Nah, not even then.**

**AN: Review... **

**Chapter Seventeen: The Inner Light**

Harry stood by the edge of the Astronomy Tower, feet dangling off the side. He stared at the far-off ground below, watching gravel fall from the soles of his shoe. His laces hung from the sides of his feet, swaying in rhythm with the swinging of his legs. Tears dripped from his eyes, falling softly onto the dew-coated grass below.

He ceased all thought. Nothing but the soft wind through the dark trees, or the muted sunrise peeking through the mountains, or the quiet hooting of the owls above mattered. He tuned out his own consciousness, allowing himself to just feel the cool air on his skin, the warm rays of sunlight illuminating his face.

He gazed out at the gently rippling water, framed perfectly by the trees and mountain range, and thought of his mentor. _Dumbledore_, he thought, _why did you leave me?_

He heard soft footsteps walking up the twisted spiral staircase, but he did not turn. He felt a soft hand curl against his shoulder, and he still did not look back. Only his name, whispered on the wind, roused him from his trance.

"Harry," the voice of Gabrielle Delacour whispered softly, gently rubbing Harry's shoulder.

Harry's emerald orbs stared into her dark blue eyes, a pleading look on his face. "I should have done something, I should have-"

Gabrielle cut him off softly. "No, Harry. You could not have done anything."

Harry turned away, his hair rippling in the wind. "That's what scares me the most."

"Then let us think upon it no more," she said, turning Harry's body to face her. "Let us think more... pleasant thoughts."

And with that, she kissed him.

Shivers ran down his spine, heat blazing a trail behind the cold front. Flames burst in his core, razing his sadness to ashes. Passion bubbled up in his chest, alighting his mind with fireworks.

The clouds broke, and the sky was lit with bright violet light. Red clouds floated lazily in the cool air, drifting past soaring owls. The lake glittered, the surface like thousands of tiny diamonds, rippling in the wind.

"Much more pleasant," said a grinning Harry as they broke for air.

Gabrielle smiled and pulled him to the floor. They did not rise for quite some time.

* * *

Voldemort gritted his teeth as yet again he was fitted with wand slivers in his hand. He screamed in agony as the Doctor nicked a nerve, sending blue sparks of magic flying out his shredded flesh.

"Would you stop doing that!" the doctor snapped irritably as the sparks yet again melted the tip of his scalpel.

Voldemort growled at him. "It's an instinctual reaction, you incompetent hack!"

The doctor rolled his eyes. "I doubt you have any other medical graduates in your employ, so I would cut the insults."

Voldemort controlled himself. "Just, stop making it hurt so damned much!"

"You insisted on being awake for the procedure, idiot."

Voldemort glared, his eye twitching. "Shut up and get back to work."

* * *

**Battle of Maxia Report to ICW**

**Submitted by Captain J.L. Picard, French Auror**

_**Casualties**__:_

_153 Aurors,_

_7 Commanders,_

_18 375 Civilians,_

_837 Foreign aid forces,_

_17 Medical Officers,_

_French Minister and Staff_

_**Enemy Casualties:**_

_8 Aurors,_

_1 Communication Officer_

_**Written Report:**_

_Maxia, the all-magical capitol of the Magical Republic of France, is destroyed. One thousand and Twenty Four Aurors were stationed in the city to protect the citizens. We failed._

_A force of nearly a hundred of the black-suited British Aurors Portkeyed into various positions in the city. Where they came from is unknown, as is how they broke the Anti-Portkey wards so easily, but nobody really cares right now. The enemy forces quickly overwhelmed us, despite our ten-to-one advantage, and began destroying civilian buildings._

_Simultaneously, they attacked the French Ministry building, which housed the now-deceased Minister and his staff. All fifty-eight Aurors were killed in the outbreak of FiendFyre, believed to be casted by the mysterious enemy. There were no survivors from the building, save for an errand boy who had gotten to the emergency escape tunnel before it was too late._

_During the battles in the streets, the enemy seemed almost invulnerable, blocking every spell we sent at them. Some of our more seasoned veterans began desperate measures, firing killing curses at the enemy. That worked for all of fifteen seconds before the rest started conjuring marble slabs to block the assault. The total killed by the Avada Kedavra was eight. None other were found in the rubble._

_We discovered a small encampment while escorting a small group of civilians to safety. We managed to kill a simple messenger before escaping to the safety of the trees. Half our convoy was destroyed in the process._

_Ninty-eight percent of the population is dead. More than half our remaining Aurors have deserted. After this report is sent, you will have one more dead Commander on your hands._

_Report written by Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the Action Division._

_**This message has been verified by the Communications Department of the ICW.**_


	18. Endgame

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Eighteen: Endgame**

Lord Voldemort, Dark Lord extraordinaire, stood at the site which had ended his reign. The small cottage in Godric's Hollow was overrun with weeds, chunks of brick coating the lawn like the rubble of the apocalypse. Voldemort felt the power radiating from the smallest bedroom, the last reminder of his ultimate demise.

Before him stood his prophesied vanquisher, curled into a defensive posture. His hair whipped around his face, flapping in the cool wind. His eyes were cold and hard, a determined gaze boring into Voldemort's amused orbs.

"This is the end, Potter." Voldemort said softly, his voice echoing high and clear across the town.

Harry steeled his eyes. "For you, perhaps."

Voldemort laughed. "Perhaps."

As if by invisible command, the pair fired beams of power simultaneously.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"_Reducto!_"

The spells connected, but Voldemort merely pulled his hand away, breaking the connection. Again they fired, jets of light colliding in mid-air. They separated, posed to strike like a cobra faced with it's prey. Lashing out again, Harry fired a spike of diamond, which Voldemort slapped aside as if he was swatting nothing more than a fly.

Voldemort extended his hands, face screwed up in an expression of cold amusement. "Now you will feel the true power of the Dark Arts!" With a twitch of his palm, spurts of red lightning erupted from his fingertips. Harry brought up a shield, to no avail. The tendrils pierced the powerful magical shield as if it was less than air.

Harry writhed on the ground, screaming in agony. Steam rolled off his skin, leaving angry welts where the lightning impacted. The red light reflected off his emerald eyes, illuminating the pained expression he wore.

Voldemort ceased his attack, cackling madly. "So, Potter. Ready to give up?"

Harry grunted, pulling himself upright. "Never."

The lightning struck again, but Harry was too quick this time. Five massive metal pillars rose from the ground, attracting the painful lances of heat and light. The air crackled with power, and the metal began dripping silver liquid.

"Never learned your muggle sciences, did you Tom." Harry taunted him, clutching his burnt side tightly. Voldemort growled, but Harry interrupted him. "Lightning rods, Tom."

Voldemort glared at Harry, lowering his hands. "That's not the only trick I have, Potter."

Harry laughed, pain permeating even his amusement. "I've got more tricks too, Tom." he spun around, vanishing immediately. Voldemort too spun around, searching frantically for his quarry. Harry smirked, hiding under his invisibility cloak in the exact same spot he was before.

Taking careful aim, Harry fired a spell at Voldemort, who's back was turned. "_Reducto._"

The red beam of light erupted from his wand-tip, passing through the invisibility cloak unhindered before smashing into Voldemort's skull. Blood, bone, and brain matter exploded outwards, raining down on the unkempt grass. His body crumpled, falling to it's knees.

Not taking chances, Harry fired off more spells, gouging more holes in Voldemort's body. Harry finally stopped, confident Voldemort was dead

"_Incindio_." Harry incanted, attempting to burn the mutilated body. To his enormous shock and surprise, a silver hexagonal shield blocked the fireball's progress. Harry's eyes widened.

A silver substance was slowly filling Voldemort's wounds, rippling softly in the wind. The substance slowly molded itself to Voldemort's skin, mimicking the destroyed portions of his body perfectly. Coughing, Voldemort stood, silver skin glinting in the soft moonlight.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." Tom's voice echoed mockingly over the forest, scaring several owls into flight.

Harry shook himself, determined to somehow destroy Tom. "I'm right here, Tom."

Voldemort smiled softly. "I knew you would reveal yourself. Brave, to a fault, just like your father." Voldemort conjured a chair, plopping down and taking a bite out of a summoned apple. "He died with his back straight, and head held high. He even tried an exhibition of muggle dueling." Voldemort laughed. "Pathetic."

A surge of hot anger rose from Harry's stomach, and with cold fury he fired another curse at Voldemort. Tom ignored the deadly yellow curse, merely flicking his eyes to conjure a shield.

"You think you can defeat me, boy?" Tom laughed. "Perhaps with Dumbledore's precious 'love'?"

Harry glared at him hatefully. "Don't you- You can't- YOU DON'T GET TO SAY HIS NAME!"

Voldemort laughed cruelly. "Loyal to the end, Harry?"

Harry's eyes narrowed with fury. "To your end, Tom."

Voldemort smiled evilly. "Tell me, Harry. If love is so great a weapon, why don't you just kill me?" Voldemort snapped his fingers, and a bound and gagged Gabrielle appeared. "You have the power."

Harry's face blanched. "Let her go, Tom."

Voldemort cackled evilly. "Why don't you make me?"

Harry stared into Gabrielle's eyes, her blue orbs shining with fear. "Curious, how stupid love makes us," Voldemort commented offhandedly. "She followed you here, probably to try to curse me when I was distracted."

Gabrielle glared at Voldemort, hate mixing with her mortal fear. Harry stared with horror, unable to say anything. Lances of pain stabbed his heart, fear echoing in his chest.

Slowly, he turned to Voldemort. Anger, hate, and love blazed as one in his heart, his magic rolling with confused chaos. Thoughts permeated Harry's mind, conflicting and supporting. All he knew for certain in that moment is that Voldemort must die.

Voldemort's eyes widened in horror as Harry began to glow with unearthly light. Wind whirled around them, lifting Voldemort into the air. Tom tried to Apparate away, but he rebounded on the near-solid vortex of air. He was trapped.

Beams of green energy whipped like fire at Voldemort, razing his flesh to ashes. Flecks of gray fell from the silver implants as they shriveled like prunes in an incinerator. Liquid leaked from the remnants, trying to re-solidify, but the intense heat of the beams was too much.

With an unearthly scream, Lord Voldemort was no more. His ashes whipped around the artificial wind for mere moments before vanishing into thin air.

Tiredly, Harry dropped to his knees. Gabrielle ran up to him, ropes already untied. They held each other for an eternity, staring into each other's eyes. Finally, Gabrielle spoke.

"What will we do now?" she asked, hesitating momentarily.

Harry smiled at her. "Anything we want."


End file.
